


Raised from Perdition

by impalasangels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Deaf!Dean, F/M, M/M, Multi, PTSD, Supernatural Abilities, blind!cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 65,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1591343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalasangels/pseuds/impalasangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order for a species to change and evolve, there has to be mutation, and humans are no exception. </p>
<p>On a small island 104 miles off the coast of Massachusetts, removed from all maps, is a research facility for these mutations: The United States Research Facility for the Study and Enhancement of the Genetically Advanced.<br/>Staffed with only 19 of the US Army’s most trusted soldiers and 5 military scientists, the facility holds 76 subjects for testing and studying – until today. </p>
<p>Today, the facility experienced a breach in security resulting in the escape of two test subjects – numbers 183 and 208. Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dean POV

**_3 months and 2 weeks since the escape._ **

Dean ducked back into the drivers’ seat of the stolen ‘67 Impala, dumping the food he’d just bought onto Cas’ lap and throwing the bottles of water into the back seat. Cas felt the packages of food carefully before selecting what he assumed was some kind of protein or cereal bar and threw the rest of the food into the back seat along with the water.

“What’s in this?” Cas formed the words carefully in his mind so that Dean could read them easily, and ripped open the plastic with his teeth.

“Man, I don’t know. It’s all rabbit food anyway. Nuts or something I guess,” Dean answered as he started up the car and pulled out of the 24 hour Gas’n’Sip courtyard, back onto the dark, secluded highway.

 As he drove, Cas ate quietly, thinking about nothing in particular and Dean left him to it. It wasn’t as simple as just not reading Cas’ mind, but Dean could avoid listening to some extent by focusing on other things. For example, driving. He focused on the highway more than he had to in order to give Cas some level of privacy, committing everything to memory as a way of ensuring he was completely focused on it. Cas’ thoughts hummed in the background anyway, but Dean wasn’t focused on them, and so considered himself ‘not listening’. To his right, Cas’ lean hands began fumbling with the radio. Dean left him to it, knowing Cas preferred doing stuff himself and taking longer to do something than people taking pity on him. Besides, he was pretty good at navigating the radio by now. Before long, he chose a station and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes.

Dean turned his attention back to Cas’ mind and listened to the music through the other man’s ears, one of his favourite things to do. Cas’ attitude to music was unlike that of anyone else Dean had ever met (which admittedly wasn’t that many people, but still). He shut off his thoughts completely and allowed the music to wash over his mind, explosions of light and emotion resonating through his whole body with the beat. He had chosen a jazz station and the sultry voice of Nina Simone singing ‘Feeling Good’ filled every crack of his mind, overriding any and all other thoughts. Dean relished in being able to hear the music, even if he could only hear it how Cas heard it.

They drove on in this way for a while, listening to everything from Charlie Parker to Peggy Lee as the late-night jazz station played its ‘witching hour medley’ which, they discovered, ran from 11pm to 5am.

Eventually Cas fell asleep, and Dean turned to his own thoughts, preferring not to spy on Cas’ dreams. Not one for ever feeling embarrassed or ashamed about his mojo, Dean rarely shied away from reading people’s thoughts, but sharing in Cas’ dreams with him seemed like crossing a line. It was a vastly unpleasant experience anyway. Like Dean, Cas had had more nightmares than dreams since they had left the facility (and the dreamless-sleep inducing drugs they were given there), and Dean figured, why experience Cas’ when he had to deal with his own anyway? Dean never intruded on Cas’ dreams, and the men never once discussed them. And so he drove, the white lines of the highway disappearing behind him like the minutes and hours he spent drifting across the state of Louisiana, his only friend in the world sleeping beside him.

As always happened when he was left alone with his thoughts, Dean’s mind wandered back to the facility (or ‘Perdition’ as he and Cas had taken calling it). They had hated Dean, but they loved his ‘enhancement’ as they liked to call it. Being able to read minds was something Dean had always been able to do to some extent, but it used to be just like an empathy thing. He had this heightened sense of how others were feeling, and an uncanny ability to see things from other people’s point of view. However, this wasn’t enough for Alistair, the main scientist of Dean’s ward in Perdition, who wanted to improve Dean’s mojo and make him a full on mind-reader. To do this, they had to take away his means of hearing what other people had to say (some kind of chemical poured into his ears took care of that) and force his body to adapt – thus he developed the ability to read minds. They hacked away at Dean, moulding him into their own design – into a blunt little instrument, as his dad had once called him. He remembered the smell of the chemical that had stolen his hearing, the acrid, harsh, metallic smell; the accompanying taste running down the back of his throat. The intrusive thoughts of loneliness he had felt after originally losing his hearing threatened the edges of his being, wanting more than anything for Dean to allow them to take over again.

Dean ripped himself from the past and forced himself to count the white lines of the road disappearing beneath the hood of the car as he drove. Anything to keep his mind from going back there. They just had to get to Harvelle’s Roadhouse. Benny had been a bust, that son of a bitch, but at least he’d pointed them in the right direction (Dean hoped).

*** *** *** ***

As the sun crept up over the horizon, Cas awoke and a slight breeze filled the car. He turned off the radio with a click and brushed Dean’s arm to get his attention, which Dean turned to Cas’ thoughts immediately, glad for the distraction.

“What time is it?”

“About 6:30,” Dean replied, dragging a hand down his face and sighing heavily, “I’m beat, man. Is it cool if we stop at a motel? I just need a few hours… Hey can you get me a water?”

Cas turned his attention to the back seat and called up some wind to pick up a water and drop it in Dean’s lap. Cas couldn’t control the wind, per se, but he could control air molecules, and should he choose, he could force the air molecules underneath something to move upwards, thus picking it up… but Dean found it easier just to say Cas could control wind.

“That’s fine, Dean,” Cas thought, “I’m not really tired, so I’ll go get a coffee or something.”

Dean nodded, knowing Cas would feel the air move and so ‘see’ his gesture, and turned off the main highway.

Before long, they came to a ‘Quality Inn’, a run-down 2 star motel (but, hey, they had beds) and Dean pulled in. Dean told Cas he’d go and book a room, to which Cas had scoffed and used his ability to find an empty room, and negotiated the lock using the air inside it. Dean thanked him, slapped him on the back, and went to hit the hay. Cas left him to it, and went to find coffee.

In the motel room, Dean collapsed onto the bed, almost instantly overcome with exhaustion. Against his better judgement, he forced himself to stay awake long enough to shower, washing 8 hours of travel off himself. He hated this, the unclean dingy motel rooms with their drab furniture and lacklustre colour schemes, but it was necessary. Depressing, but necessary. As he showered he thought about the life he’d always craved: a home; a garden; hell, a white picket fence.

Would he ever be able to have that now? The facility would want them back. How far would they go to find them? Dean was all-too-aware the safety he felt on the road was false. Perdition always on their heels, calling them back. Like a ghost that couldn’t be laid to rest, it haunted them. 


	2. Cas POV

A short discussion with the girl on the front desk, who couldn’t be less enthusiastic to help him if she tried, revealed he had a choice between McDonalds to the left, Burger King to the right, or an array of gas stations in both directions. Castiel sighed and left the motel.

Figuring he would make the best of a bad situation, Castiel decided to get coffee from McDonalds, and then a burger from Burger King. He felt the air around him to navigate his was back to the Impala without colliding with anyone or thing; it was his way of ‘seeing’, he could create a line-drawing type image of what he could sense in his mind. No colour, or details, but he knew where the lines were. As he used the air to negotiate the lock on the car door, retrieved his wallet, relocked the car, and walked towards McDonalds, Castiel thought about his ability, or mojo, as Dean liked to call it.

Unlike Dean and his deafness, Castiel had always been blind. Naomi, the head scientist on his ward, said that’s what had driven his body to adapt this ability of feeling the changes in the air around him. Naomi had loved Castiel’s ability and worked with him relentlessly to try and improve it. She would pump him full of all manner of drugs and set him various tasks that he was to complete using only his mind – moving things, creating wind, etc. Eventually, they got it right, and he was able to pick up the pen and write his subject number – 183 – on a piece of paper. That night, Naomi had ordered that Castiel’s genes be permanently altered using the drug that had finally worked.

He was able to get the general layout of a room almost as soon as he walked in – he could sense where all the furniture was, as well as any sighted person could, at least. If he wanted details though, the depth of objects, the more subtle lines, and the ripples in fabric, it took him slightly longer. Not much, but slightly. Sensing the famous McDonalds ‘M’ ahead of him, Castiel reached out as far as his ability would allow to find the nearest building, assuming it would be the McDonalds. Finding it to be to his left, he walked steadily towards the door, constantly feeling the air around him to try and create a mental image of his surroundings. It was a habit he had long since grown used to, and he could do it almost without thinking.

After ordering a coffee at the counter, Castiel sat at a table and thought about the escape, what seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet still felt as though it were only yesterday.

  _“I’m going to grip you tight and raise you from Perdition,” Castiel had thought to Dean one day as they sat in their usual neighbouring stalls in the toilets._  
 _“Well, why not?” Dean replied, quietly and quickly. Even here, the only place they got any privacy, he could tell Dean was scared of being overheard. Reaching out beyond the door of the bathroom, into the corridor Castiel could feel no disturbance in the air; the coast was clear, no scientists and no guards. Dean would be able to see in Castiel’s thoughts that the corridor was empty, so he knew that they were safe to talk._  
 _“Why not what?” Castiel thought, suddenly regretting what he’d said. He was pretty sure he knew where this was going._  
 _“Why don’t we leave, Cas?”_  
 _Castiel’s mind filled with what could happen if they were caught trying to leave the island. Thoughts of fear and drug-induced pain searing through his body…_  
 _“Yeah, Cas, I know, okay? I know. But just think about it. You and me, we’re the most advanced people in here. Next after us is Anna, and she’s not even close. Me and you together, we can do this. I just feel like… like we’re soldiers, man. You know? Like we’ve got no free will. I’ve been thinking, and what d’you think they’re going to do with us now that they’ve got us where they want us – mojo wise, I mean? I’ll tell you; they’re gonna brainwash us. Turn us into some kind of super-soldiers. Just you wait, Cas.” Dean was speaking quickly in a hissed whisper, desperate to get Castiel to hear him. And he did. He had his own theories of what was going to happen to him and Dean next, none of which were pleasant._  
 _“Yes, Cas! See! We need to get out!” Dean whisper-yelled, having heard Castiel actually considering his proposal._  
 _“Fine, Dean. I mean, maybe. But how?” Castiel had taken to imagining the words and then reading them in order for Dean to hear them clearly. Sometimes, his background thoughts interfered with what he was trying to say to Dean, but usually it was okay._  
 _“Well…”_  
 _And so Dean told him his plan. Castiel had to admit, it was good._

The coffee was cheap-tasting, but it was warm and it was bitter. Castiel loved to experience things as much as he could; not only for his own sake, but also for Dean’s. He had never minded, or indeed put much thought towards, being blind; he’d never known any different. But he remembered how Dean had been when he lost his hearing; his defeated posture and his uncertainty. From then on, Castiel had vowed to never take anything –especially his senses- for granted again. For this reason he liked his coffee bitter, his music loud, and always insisted on buying scented candles or air fresheners if they were in a motel room longer than one night. Above all, he cherished the homely smell of the Impala; leather upholstery and motor oil. He didn’t care about how his clothes felt, as long as he could feel them against his skin, he was happy.

Having finished his coffee, Castiel meandered over to Burger King, walking slowly and drawing up the layout of the area as best as he could in his mind. This too had become a habit of Castiel’s – you never knew who might be looking for you, after all, and how fast an escape you would have to make.

After making the boy at the register read him the entirety of the menu, Castiel ordered the biggest, greasiest burger on there and took a seat at an empty table. He let his mind wander and avoided thinking about the past anymore. By the time he’d finished the burger, Castiel estimated that around an hour and a half had passed – not nearly enough time for Dean to sleep – and with nothing better to do, he went back to the Impala to listen to music and wait for Dean.


	3. Dean POV / Cas POV

Dean awoke with a start, falling out of a nightmare into a stiflingly hot motel room, and took a few seconds to realize where he was. Rolling onto his back, he groaned at the realisation his t-shirt was sticking to him with sweat – both from the heat and the nightmare – and that he would need to shower. Again. He picked up his jeans from the dirty carpet where he’d dropped them and fished his cell from the pocket. Checking the time, he worked out he’d slept for about 3 hours - not bad, but still not enough - before calling Cas. He watched the screen, waiting for it to change indicating Cas had answered and waited a few seconds before saying simply,

“Clothes.”

And hanging up.

He then removed his sodden t-shirt and opened the motel room door to wait for Cas to arrive with his clothes. As he waited, enjoying the slight breeze, he tried to make the remainder of his nightmare fall away from behind his eyelids.

Cas appeared a few moments later, carrying Dean’s duffel bag and absentmindedly running his fingertips along the rough motel wall as he walked. Dean whistled to get his attention, and Cas strolled over. His mind was filled with worry.

“Hey, I just gotta shower then we can get going. What’s wrong?” Dean asked, taking the duffel from Cas and throwing it onto the bed.

He waited as Cas mapped out the room in his mind, taking in the exits, the bathroom, the positioning of the bed, the TV, and Dean. Dean watched his mind as he did so, and when Cas noticed Dean was wearing nothing but boxer shorts, he quickly focused his attention elsewhere. Sighing, he sat on the bed next to where Dean was digging for a clean pair of underwear and a t-shirt.

“Did you sleep for long enough?” Cas asked him.

“Cas, I’m fine. I got like, 3 hours, I’m good. We’re less than eight hundred miles from the Nebraska state border from here, and if what Benny told us is true, that’s where we’re gonna find help.” He replied decisively as he padded to the bathroom in bare feet.

*** *** *** ***

 **CAS  
** Castiel tried to relax, it seemed as if he always had to remind himself, and just enjoyed the sensation of controlling the air around him.

He kept the air around him moving to keep himself cool as he lay down on the bed and thought of nothing – or at least tried to. He had never been able to turn off his ability to sense what was going on, and always had this automatic image in his head of what was around him, and now was no exception. Through the paper-thin wall of the motel, he could sense Dean in the shower. He felt him wash his hair and splash water on his face – no doubt an attempt as washing away the nightmares – and then… oh, no. Dean was standing in the shower, one arm outstretched, his hand placed firmly on the tiled wall to support himself; his other hand wrapped firmly around his-

Castiel stood up suddenly, Dean’s duffel bag falling to the floor from the abruptness of the movement. Well, Dean’s duffel be damned, he was not going to lie here and ‘see’ Dean jacking off in the shower. He felt heat flush his cheeks as he ran for the motel door.

Sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, Castiel tried to calm his breathing. He tried to turn his mind to anything except what he’d just witnessed, but the more he avoided it, the more it forced its way back into his thoughts. _Oh my God,_ he thought, _Dean’s gonna hear my thoughts._

*** *** *** ***

 **DEAN POV  
** “What the hell, Cas? My stuff was all over the floor and did you call up a blizzard in there? The bed covers were everywhere and the curtains were ripped off the rail. What’s wrong? Your mind’s all busy, I can barely hear what’s going on in there,” Dean gushed as soon as he fell into the front seat of the Impala and threw his duffel into the back seat.

Cas did his best to calm his thoughts down, focusing intently on what he was saying to Dean, whose suspicions peaked instantly.

“I’ve told you, Dean, I don’t control the wind. I can move the air molecules. And I just wanted to listen to music, that’s all.”

There was a beat of silence.

“There’s no music on, Cas.”

“Ah.”

“What’s going on, then? I know your brain, man, and this isn’t how it usually is. Whatever it is you don’t want me to know, I don’t care. What did you have a sex dream? I’ve heard plenty of people recount those before, it’s really no big deal.” After a slight pause, Dean heard Cas’ mind quieten and Dean could instantly see what it was he was trying to cover up.

“Y – You saw me in the shower. Oh. _Oh!”_

“I don’t need the live replay of events, Dean, I could hear you just fine at the time. And I didn’t _see_ you, technically. I felt you.”

“That’s worse, Cas! Don’t say that! Well, whatever it’s no big deal. Let’s just go, yeah? Harvelle’s Roadhouse, here we come.”

As he pulled out of the lot, Dean watched Cas’ face as it flushed beet red. He knew he should feel more embarrassed about what Cas saw – _felt_ – but he didn’t. Maybe it was something to do with hearing people’s innermost thoughts all the time, maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, Dean chose to ignore it for Cas’ sake, since he was clearly a lot more embarrassed about it, and thought about other things as he drove. As always, the escape from Perdition came to mind.

_Dean and Cas had planned the escape perfectly._  
 _As Dean sat alone in his room (cell), he calmed his mind and directed his thoughts to Cas in the Rec room (directly below the room he was currently in) wearing ear plugs, and to the soldiers on the docks, preparing for a delivery. If all went to plan, Cas would be playing jenga with Anna right about now (being blind really wasn’t a hindrance to Cas), keeping the soldiers on hand on their toes, fearing a freak-out from Anna if she lost. Cas would divide his ability – keep the jenga tower standing, and using the air to take the soldiers’ guns and keys from their holsters; guns through the air vents just far enough that they couldn’t be reached., and keys through the hole in ceiling Dean had made ‘accidentally’ with a pool cue a week prior._  
 _He would then make the tower fall during Anna’s turn, bringing on a full-scale tantrum and hopefully, her scream would shatter the windows (she had amazing senses, and could see, hear, smell, and taste much better than anything else on earth, and on a much greater spectrum – Dean doubted if the facility had found a way to use this to their advantage yet, as Anna didn’t appear to have been tested on to any great extent) and so when she screamed, it would be at a high frequency and result in some popped ear drums and smashed glass._  
 _Dean looked at the hole in his floor and ran over the plan in his mind for the hundredth time, skimming over every detail and praying there wasn’t something he’d missed (and he really wasn’t the praying type). His prayers were immediately answered as they key to his room (it locked from the outside, of course it was a cell) floated up through the hole in the floor. Dean leapt up and grabbed it, kissed it quickly, and let himself out of his room – just as he felt the building vibrate from Anna’s scream._  
 _This was the hard part. Dean and Cas both had to escape the facility and get to the docks in as little time as possible. Running as fast as he could and taking the stairs two at a time, Dean descended through the building towards where he’d arranged to meet Cas. The main entrance to the facility was a steel door locked electronically and required a code to open._  
 _Dean’s reputation within the facility meant that he could quite happily approach the soldier guarding it and ask for the code without it being out of character, which he did as Cas hid around the corner at the end of the corridor. The guy laughed with a “Yeah, okay buddy, keep it moving” but his thoughts screamed **6749675** as he did so. Dean thanked the guy, whistled, and suddenly the soldier was pinned against the wall by Cas as Dean punched in the code and unlocked the door._  
 _Cas passed through the door first, and Dean winked at the helpless guy a few feet off the ground as he followed. After shutting the door, Cas warped the frame, stopping the guy from following them straight out._  
 _The rest was fairly simple, Dean and Cas would run like mad towards the dock, Cas ridding soldiers of their guns before they saw them, and Dean pushing and punching his way through the small group of disarmed soldiers towards the small boat that delivered the food and supplies from mainland USA._  
 _They hopped aboard and, thanks to Cas and his air controlling abilities, sped away from the island at an incredible speed._  
 _They laughed and hugged and cheered as they ended the chapter of their lives in the facility, and began a new, more free, one._

Dean smiled as he drove. He and Cas made a good team.


	4. Cas POV

Castiel was mortified. He wanted to listen to music, knowing it would clear his mind of anything else, but he didn’t want to move for fear of attracting Dean’s attention. He wished more than anything that the leather of the Impala’s seats would just swallow him whole… but they didn’t. And now he had to face a 16 hour drive to the Nebraska state border, plus however long it took them to fine Harvelle’s Roadhouse from there.

Why was this bothering him so much? He’d felt a lot worse before, He’d felt couples going at it like rabbits in neighbouring motel rooms, for God’s sake. Maybe it was because it was Dean. Or maybe it was because he couldn’t help but notice the distinct feeling of butterflies in his stomach whenever he thought about it. Why did Dean have to be a mind-reader, damn it? And he could feel other people’s emotions thanks to his damn empathy ability. Castiel did his best to turn his mind to other things, but he knew inside that it was pointless. Dean had already seen now, anyway, and he’d more than likely seen what Castiel had felt as he thought about it.

Groaning inwardly and figuring all damage had been done, Castiel reached for the radio and chose some classic-rock station (definitely not because that was Dean’s favourite).

AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long washed over Castiel and he soaked it up gratefully. He imagined it covering his being, inside and out, and lifting him into a space where there was nothing but the music. He knew Dean enjoyed listening to music through him, and so he shut his eyes and let it fill his mind completely.

As the last chords of You Shook Me All Night Long rang through the car, Led Zeppelin’s Trampled Under Foot began to play, the bass line filling Castiel’s being and resonating in his bones. Despite the obvious double meaning throughout the song, Castiel’s mind was on cars and he was suddenly wrenched back to the time immediately after the escape.

_“We did it, Cas!” Dean grabbed Castiel’s shoulders and pulled him close, wrapping him into an embrace that could rival that of a boa constrictor. Both men were tall, but Dean was just that little bit taller, completely encasing Castiel in the hug. There they stood, on a tiny beach in Massachusetts, the sea on one side and a wall of trees on the other. Safe._   
_“Yes, Dean!” Castiel laughed, knowing Dean would feel the vibrations in his chest, even if he couldn’t hear him._   
_“How tired are you?” Dean asked suddenly, not letting go of Castiel’s shoulders, and holding him at arms’ length away so he could see his face. “You look beat, and I’ve never heard your mind slow down so much and get so muddled. We’ll find a motel.”_   
_Castiel tried to fill his mind with happy, upbeat, energetic thoughts and feelings, but he knew it wouldn’t fool Dean; the constant use of his ability had worn him out. He didn’t want to stay in a motel. He wanted to get as far away from Perdition as possible. So instead, he thought about money – or more accurately, their lack thereof._   
_“Yeah, I can get some. I’m a mind-reader, Cas, who’s gonna beat me at poker? C’mon.”_   
_And with that, he kicked the boat back out to the water and dragged Castiel through the trees towards civilization. Castiel still didn’t feel free. Not yet._

_They came to a road, and with no idea where they were or how to get anywhere else, they followed it. As they walked, they passed a number of large, expensive looking houses and both of their hopes of finding a dingy motel deteriorated more with every step._   
_Castiel had a sudden thought of stealing a car, and though it was only a brief, passing thought, Dean heard it. And loved it._   
_Before too long, they came to a large house nestled behind a thin tree line. Castiel turned his mind to Dean._   
_He thought about punishment and the facility._   
_“Don’t worry, Cas,” Dean had whispered to him, squeezing his arm slightly, “I can listen to them, make sure they don’t think someone’s outside, and you can get the lock, right? We can get a car no problem.”_   
_And that’s what they did. The car had a long front and seemed to Castiel incredibly boxy, but he liked the straight lines and the clean angels. Dean ducked underneath an open window and listened to the minds of the people inside. He gestured to Castiel that the coast was clear, and the pair ran out towards the car, Castiel ensured the lock sprung before they reached it. Jumping into the car, Dean in the driver’s seat, Castiel in the back (it was quicker than running all the way around the car), the engine roared to life and the Car sped down the drive way._

_They drove for nearly 10 hours, both men reluctant to stop, until they were just outside Hazleton, Pennsylvania. Wanting to avoid highways and major towns, the drive had taken longer than anticipated and both men were exhausted and uncomfortable when they pulled up to the dingy motel. Castiel had dozed for most of the journey after the initial rocky start as Dean tried to work out the car and how it worked (“I know how to do it, Cas! I watched my Dad drive all the time!”), but he was still exhausted from the over-use of his ability and could do with a night in a comfortable bed._

_Unfortunately, that’s not what he got. The room was dirty and the beds were lumpy, but neither man noticed as he disappeared into unconsciousness the second his head hit the paper-thin pillow._

_Tomorrow, they would begin their journey south._

*** *** *** ***

Castiel shifted in his seat. They had been driving for about 7 hours; his legs and back were stiff, and his ass well and truly asleep. He turned to Dean, who was focused wholly on the road, meaning he was trying not to listen to Castiel’s thoughts. Though he knew Dean couldn’t turn off his ability, much like he himself couldn’t, he knew that he would do his best to give Castiel as much privacy as possible, and for that, he was grateful. Reaching out, Castiel brushed Dean’s arm to get his attention. He thought about the pain in his legs, his ass, and his back, and about his nagging need for coffee before framing the question in his mind,

“Can we stop?”

He heard Dean sigh, and sensed him reach up to rub the back of his neck.

“Sure thing, as soon as we find somewhere.”

Before long, they stumbled on a Gas Mart, and Dean set about pumping the gas while Castiel disappeared into the convenience store to get two coffees and to see if there was a pie for Dean. He knew Dean hated stopping on journeys more often than was necessary, but he also knew that Dean only thought it was necessary that he get a couple of hours of sleep a night, and ate only candy bars and burgers every so often. In all honesty, Castiel worried about him, and would do everything he could to see Dean as healthy as was possible. Well, physically at least. As Castiel stood at the automated coffee machine waiting for it to warm up, he thought about Dean.

Castiel knew Dean’s story inside and out. He’d learned it in hushed whispers and choked words through the walls of the stalls in the toilets in the facility, where he and Dean had first established a friendship, and in the dark cab of the Impala as they crossed state after state.

Dean’s family had been a normal one, mother, father, two kids, and a home. Until Dean was 4, he was a normal, happy child but a house fire brought that to an abrupt end. His father, John, had escaped, and Dean saved his baby brother, Sam, but his mother wasn’t so fortunate. Mary was trapped in the nursery and burned along with the memories and love of the Winchester home. This was where Dean first experienced his empathy ability. Dean felt John’s guilt at letting his wife perish and saving himself, and grew up believing it was his fault – being so young, he was unable to tell that they were not his own feelings. This was also the reason Dean was so protective over Sam. Sam was scared of their father from a young age, scared of how he treated Dean, and so the older Winchester brother devoted his life to protecting him, mistaking his fear for Dean for fear for himself. John dragged the boys across the country, staying in cheap motels and doing underpaid cash-in-hand work to keep them fed. When Dean was twelve, John had been in a bar one night, blabbing about his ‘idiotic boy’ who won’t do as he’s told and he might as well have had a daughter, he was so big on emotions. Said he didn’t have feelings of his own, he just felt how other people felt, like a blunt little instrument doing what he was told. Didn’t have an original thought in his head, that boy. There must have been a researcher in the bar that night, or someone who was involved, because the next day while John was out somewhere and the boys were alone at the motel, Dean was approached by a mysterious man as he got a soda from the machine for Sam. He asked questions, set up scenarios, and even insulted a passing woman to see Dean’s reaction; and clearly the boy passed all the tests. They had him ‘arrested’ for ‘fighting’ and John was so angry he told Dean not to come home once he got out. Dean was shipped to the facility and that was the last time the Winchester brothers, aged twelve and eight, saw one another.

As always when Castiel thought about Dean’s past, he was livid. Why did John have to be such a bad father to the boys? Would it really have been so hard to think of them instead of himself? Dean was the complete opposite of his father, his ability allowing him to feel exactly what others were feeling, while John had pointedly ignored it. In comparison to Dean’s, Castiel’s life had practically been a walk in the park.

Castiel sensed Dean’s form through the window of the shop as he finished pumping the gas and made his way to the store to pay. Castiel grabbed the two coffees from the machine and a pie from the fridge area and met Dean at the register. They paid for their items and their gas, Dean ruffling Castiel’s hair when he saw the pie, used the bathroom quickly, and returned to the Impala.

“Just 7 or 8 more hours to the border,” Dean said, cheerfully, “We can do that in one go, right?”

Castiel thought worriedly about the tiredness in Dean’s voice and the countless stifled yawns during the journey thus far today.

“I’m fine, Cas, really.”

“No, Dean.” Castiel framed the words definitely and left no room for argument. “It’s 5:30 now. We can drive until 11pm at the latest. Then we stop for the night and we both sleep until morning. Understood?”

Dean sighed and was about to argue when Castiel reached across the cab and hit him in the arm.

“Understood?”

“Fine.” Dean mumbled, before muttering a string of insults under his breath – acutely aware of Castiel’s heightened sense of hearing.

Castiel sat back, a smug smile on his face. The events and awkwardness of that morning all but forgotten.


	5. Dean POV

At 10:57, Dean turned into the Best Value American Inn just outside of Newton, Kansas. He cut the engine, and sat for a moment in silence, taking a deep breath he turned to Cas and listened to his mind. He was awake.

“C’mon, Cas, We’re at a motel.” Dean said as he leaned into the back seat to retrieve his and Cas’ duffel bags. He dropped Cas’ onto his lap.

Cas’ mind was grumpy and filled with complaints at having the weight dropped on him without warning. Sentence fragments like “how dare you” and “but I’m blind…” caught Dean’s attention and he laughed.

“Yeah, well I’m deaf. Let’s go. And don’t act like you care about carrying heavy stuff, you can just call up a gust to carry it for you.”

With that, the two men climbed out of the car and headed to the motel. Both were too tired to use any tricks to get a room, so they just paid the old fashioned way and headed to room 5C, yawning as they went.

Upon opening the door, Castiel’s breath hitched and Dean broke into roars of laughter. There, in the centre of the room, stood one lonely double bed.

“Big spoon or little spoon?” Dean asked in between fits of laughter. Cas’ mind filled with panic, and the fight or flight response was triggered. This just made Dean laugh more and it was a good five minutes before he stopped, tears streaming down his cheeks and his stomach in cramps. Cas stood still, mortified, thoughts of the morning’s events flooding back to him in tidal waves.

“Cas, calm down, man. It’s no big deal,” Dean snickered as he said it. He grabbed Cas’ shoulders and held him at arms’ length as he had on the beach in Massachusetts and looked him in the eyes. He knew Cas couldn’t see him, but he did it anyway. From looking at them, you couldn’t tell Cas’ eyes were unseeing. Dean didn’t know how Cas always managed to look focused, but he did, and so the blue eyes were never covered with sunglasses, and Dean could look at them whenever he liked, sinking into the ocean of blue like an anchor. “It doesn’t matter, okay? If it makes you feel any better I think about you that way sometimes, too. It’s perfectly normal – trust me, I’m in people’s heads all day every day and the one thing they all got in common? They’re thinking about sex.”

And with that, he shut the room door and throwing his duffel bag on the bed, headed for the bathroom.

In the privacy of the bathroom, Dean stared at himself in the mirror. He stared at his reflection for far longer than he cared to admit and his mind wondered back to the blue eyes in the next room. Cas couldn’t read his mind. Couldn’t see that Dean thought about him all the time. Dean had had a life before Perdition, and yet it was always to Cas his thoughts strayed – their conversations in the toilets in Perdition, the escape, the countless hours they had spent on the road together since. Cas’ laugh, Cas’ refusal to accept any help, Cas’ hair when he’d just woken up, _Cas_ when he’d just woken up; still groggy, his mind moving slow. Dean shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the thoughts. He splashed his face with cold water and brushed his teeth, prepared himself, and headed back into the motel room.

Cas was perched delicately on the edge of the bed, as if he was scared to disturb the sheets, and upon hearing Dean enter the room, stood quickly. Dean saw in his thoughts that he wanted a shower, to wash a full day of driving off himself, and threw his wash bag in Cas’ direction. It stopped just short of him, hovering in the air in front of his chest, and Cas reached up and plucked it from the air. His mind flashed a quick thanks before he disappeared into the bathroom.

Dean couldn’t help envy Cas’ ability sometimes, but that was quickly cut short when he thought about his backstory.

Upon learning he was blind, Cas’ parents gave him away and the baby was thrown into the disarray and disorder of the American adoption and foster system which promptly swallowed him up. From the get-go, Cas had been deemed an ‘unadoptable’ child, and they had scarcely even bothered to try, focusing instead on the blonde-haired-blue-eyed toddlers adopted parents favoured above all else. He was passed from ill-equipped home to ill-equipped home, almost invisible, until the age of seven. He was in a foster home somewhere in Wisconsin when an argument broke out between himself a girl named Meg, who threw a stuffed angel toy at Cas, presumably thinking she was guaranteed an easy shot. The boy ducked. The young, blind boy ducked to avoid being hit by an angel, and that was essentially the nail in the coffin. Two weeks later, Cas found himself in the facility. Young and confused, Cas thought it was just another home from which he would soon move on.

Dean seethed with rage at the idea of Cas’ parents giving him up, of the foster system failing him, of Meg getting him caught, and of all the crap in between that had made up Cas’ life. In comparison to Cas’, Dean’s life had practically been a walk in the park.

Dean fell back onto the uncomfortable motel bed, and cursed himself. He only had these feelings about Cas because he was his only friend in the whole world and had been for the past, what? Ten years? Of course he was going to think about him like that. If anyone knew how the human mind worked, it was Dean, and this was perfectly normal. He just needed to wait until it was all finished, he could meet other people and then he and Cas could just go back to being normal friends. Done.

Removing his jeans, Dean turned out the light and wriggled under the covers. He listened to the hissing sound of the shower via Cas' thoughts and tried to turn off his mind long enough to fall asleep…

Cas, accidentally leaving on the bathroom light which spilled into the bedroom, fell onto the bed beside him; his mind dozy and slow, his skin radiating warmth from the hot shower. He wore a t-shirt and boxer shorts and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow. Dean watched him, in the dim light, aware that it was totally creepy but not caring in the least. He avoided Cas’ dreams, as always, but listened just enough to know that he was happy. Satisfied that Cas was content, Dean allowed himself to drift off into oblivion.

For the first time since escaping Perdition, neither Dean nor Cas was haunted by nightmares.


	6. Cas POV

Castiel sat up abruptly and his mind flew out to all corners of the room to check for intruders. It took him a second to realise it wasn’t an intruder that had woken him, it was an alarm clock, obnoxiously blaring Heat of the Moment by Asia. He leaned over a still-sleeping Dean to switch it off and flopped back onto the bed. He lay there for a second before,

“You know you could have just shaken me awake, you didn’t have to lay on me.”

Castiel groaned, grabbed his pillow, and threw it at Dean.

“You’re an assbutt, Dean.” he thought as he climbed out of bed.

“Assbutt?” Castiel could virtually hear the smirk in Dean’s voice.

He pulled on a pair of pants and went to use the bathroom, leaving Dean on the bed. He slammed the door and leaned against it, sliding down so that he was sitting on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. He ran his hands through his hair and felt that it had dried wrong from sleeping on it while it was still wet.

What was it about _Dean_ recently? Castiel’s thoughts seemed full of him all the time, his voice and his scent and his stupid laugh. Could he hear his thoughts from here? Oh, Castiel didn’t care. Dean deserved to hear how much great he was for once, anyway. It’s just… Dean was his only friend, and Castiel didn’t want to scare him off with his creepy, obsessive thoughts. There was a knock on the door.

“Cas, you done? I need to shower and we need to go.”

“Um, yeah, hold on,” Castiel thought in return. He stood up quickly, adjusted himself as well as he could, and opened the door. He immediately sensed that Dean was stood directly in front of him, filling the doorframe. His arms were out, hands positioned on the doorframe either side of his head, and he was looking down at Castiel. The shorter man’s breathing hitched from the mere _proximity_ and he stumbled back slightly. Dean chuckled.

“I’m just gonna shower quickly… Get me a coffee?”

Castiel was grateful for the distraction and used the air to push Dean out of the way, fearing that if he placed a hand on him he would get carried away. He rushed from the motel room, not bothering to pack his duffel. _Dean can do it,_ he thought to himself. As he closed the door he heard Dean yell,

“No I won’t!”

*** *** *** ***

Castiel sat in the small café with his hands wrapped around a coffee cup, enjoying the heat and the bitter smell.

 _They left to begin their journey south early the next morning.  
The sun had barely peaked the horizon by the time they were back on the back roads of America. They figured they would go south, avoiding all highways, stopping in bars and motels as they went and hustling money every chance they got. It gave them the freedom to flee to the east should the need arise, but still gave them the opportunity to get as far away from Perdition and the state of Massachusetts in general.   
Castiel and Dean discussed the escape, laughing and joking and ignoring the undertones of fear they both felt. They joked about how they were going to hustle cash and where they were going to go.   
Both of them could use their abilities to make money in bars – Dean reading minds and so winning card games, Castiel playing darts and doing tricks on the pool table, using the air to make sure he was always successful. It was a simple enough plan, and as they crept south it worked perfectly.  
They moved slowly, sometimes staying in one town for as many as three days if they thought they could make more money. A small town in Kentucky had been home for three nights before they were kicked out of the bar for starting fights. Castiel still maintained that the other guy started it, but he knew deep inside that it was Dean who had thrown the first punch. He wouldn’t have tripped over the guy’s leg anyway, he would have seen it, but Dean didn’t care and he was furious. After that, they moved on, deciding there was no more money to be made from the drinkers of Cave City. They did, however, swap their ‘78 Lincoln Continental Mark V for a ’67 Chevy Impala which Dean had sworn was _ way _nicer and promised Castiel that it was a better car, though he doubted if Dean knew anything more about cars than the fact that they drove._

_As they approached the states of Mississippi and Louisiana, they realised they would need a more long-term plan, since neither of them was fond of the idea of spending their life on the road. One day, as they drifted lazily down a road somewhere in Mississippi Dean cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly in his seat. Castiel could tell from his body language that he wanted to ask something and half-turned to him expectantly._

_“So, I’ve been thinking, and um… well maybe we could look for my brother?” Dean finished the question in a hurry as if not getting it out straight away meant not getting it out at all._  
Castiel was taken aback, he could have tried to guess at what Dean was going to say a million times over, and he doubted if he would have guessed that. Dean could no doubt feel Castiel’s surprise.   
“You know what? Forget it, it’s a stupid idea. Kid probably doesn’t want to see me, anyway.” Dean said quietly when Castiel failed to answer. Forcing his mind to clear, Castiel pieced together an answer in his mind.   
“No, Dean, let’s do that. I’m sure he does want to see you. You’re family. Who knows? He might be looking for you too.”  
Dean was silent, but Castiel didn't need to be a mind-reader to know that he was grateful.  
They spent that night in Vicksburg and set off the next day to Sioux Falls, South Dakota to find Bobby Singer whom Dean remembered from his childhood and figured was as good a place to start as any. Both men felt renewed now that they had somewhere to go and though they didn't discuss it, anticipated the future with hope in their hearts.


	7. Dean POV

As they crossed the Nebraska state border, Dean was buzzing with excitement. They had been driving for nearly four hours and his legs had long since numbed from not being used save for the pedals, but he didn’t care. _I’m gonna find you, Sammy. We can be brothers again, you’ll see_ he thought as he turned off the road into a gas station, having promised Cas that they could stop in Nebraska.

He thought about how quiet the journey had been. Cas’ mind had been busy but he hadn’t once directed specific thoughts at Dean except to ask if they could stop or ask about something they passed. Dean left him to it, focusing on the task ahead. He’d looked up Harvelle’s Roadhouse the night before on the old dinosaur of a computer in the motel reception, and found that it was near Ericson. The computer estimated the journey to take just over 2 hours and 30 minutes using the main highways, so Dean guessed they were looking at about 3 hours and 15 minutes avoiding them, if not more. They should reach the bar by 5pm, hopefully giving Dean and Cas time to talk to the owner – Ellen, Benny said she was called – before they opened up properly for the night.

He paced around the courtyard of the Pump & Pantry as Cas more than likely bought a coffee, waking his legs up and gulping the warm air. He looked around, taking in the vast amount of grey that surrounded him. Almost all of the ground he could see was paved over, the small squat buildings were unpainted and drab, and the sky seemed to reflect the ground below. There was some kind of radio tower to his left and a few trees in front of him. As he stared he wondered how Cas would feel if he saw it all. The colours, so drab and dreary to Dean, would light up his eyes as he drank them in. The radio tower and the criss-crossed girders of its frame would amaze him; the green of the trees leave him in awe. Dean vowed that one day he would show Cas the beauty of the world. He didn’t know how, but he would.

Cas idly strolled over to the car, a coffee in each hand.

“I just thought, you know, that you weren’t wired _enough_ today,” Cas joked shyly.

Dean thanked him and ducked into the drivers’ seat of the Impala as Cas climbed into the passenger seat. Dean watched him as he set about sugaring his coffee, his unruly inky black hair, his almost perfect profile, his slightly sunken eyes. He watched as Cas ripped open the sugar packet with his teeth and licked the wooden stirrer and his breathing hitched. Popping the plastic lid back onto the cup, Cas framed a question in his mind,

“Ready to go?”

Dean turned his eyes back out the windshield and started the car.

“Hey, Cas, listen to music, will you? The drive over here was so _boring!_ ” Cas obliged, fumbling with the dials on the radio before finally settling on a country station. The music washed over Cas, and so Dean, and they began the last leg of their journey to Harvelle’s.

It didn’t take long for Dean’s mind to wander away from the music and back to another time they had made a similar journey, up from the southern states through central US.

_The drive from Vicksburg to South Dakota had taken three days; they stopped only for food and to sleep. Dean insisted that they get there as quick as possible – now that he had Sam in his head, he couldn’t get him out. He still felt protective over the kid, despite not having seen him in fourteen years._   
_He spent hours described Sam to Cas to the best of his ability_   
_“He’s got crazy dimples, and this longish brown hair – but he’s probably cut it now. He’s smart, too, man I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in one of those big shot colleges right now studying law or medicine or something, you know? I never really had a shot at a successful career, but Sammy? Man, he could go straight to the top, I’m telling you...” And Cas listened happily, asking questions every so often but mostly just listening as Dean puffed up with pride over his baby brother._   
_For the first time in he didn’t know how long, Dean allowed himself to be engulfed by the hope of better things to come and he made damn sure Cas was right there with him._   
_They talked and laughed and joked, and Cas would lift coffee out of the cup and into Dean’s mouth and Dean would tell Cas stories from his own head as he thought about them, which nine times out of ten would be inappropriate and silly; both Dean and Cas would look back on this 19 hour drive fondly for the rest of their lives._

_Eventually, in the late morning of the third day, they pulled into Singer Auto Self Service Salvage Yard._

_Dean was suddenly overcome with nervousness at the idea of seeing the man who had been a more loving father than his own to him over fourteen years ago. Would he even recognize him? What had John told him about where Dean was? He killed the engine of the Impala but sat still, hands clenched on the wheel, staring straight ahead. Cas sat still beside him; he knew Dean needed time and directed no thoughts his way. A few minutes had passed when Dean finally moved. He let out a slow whistle and flopped back in his seat,_   
_“Guess I never pictured actually being here again,” He said quietly, and Cas’ thoughts turned reassuring and encouraging._   
_“I guess we should get this over with, huh?” And with that, Dean clambered from the Impala and walked purposefully towards the blue wooden house. He climbed the steps, feeling the creak of the wood beneath his feet, and stopped dead in front of the door. There he remained until Cas joined him on the front porch and thought about knocking, himself. Dean nodded, stiffly, his lips pursed. Slowly, Cas raised a fist and rapped three times on the wood. They waited._

_Dean needn’t have worried about Bobby not recognizing him; he was pulled into a vice-like hug before the door was even completely open. Bobby was speaking fast, his mind too busy to get an accurate read on what he was saying at that moment in time and when he finished talking and looked at Dean expectantly, the three men stood awkwardly on the front porch. Cas cleared his throat and Bobby turned to him.  
“Um, Dean’s deaf,” he’d said quietly. And then, “And I’m blind. Nice to meet you, my name’s Castiel.” Bobby looked utterly lost for a beat before ushering the men into the house and sitting them on a couch. He positioned an arm chair so he could face them from across the coffee table.  
“Come again?”  
Cas explained to Bobby again that Dean had been deafened since he had seen him last. He framed his own words and Bobby’s replies in his mind so that Dean could follow the conversation, but told him to stay silent. He said that Dean could read lips if you spoke slowly and could speak almost perfectly due to being able to hear just fine for the first 20 years of his life (and because he heard people’s thoughts all the time, but Cas left that part out).  
Turning to Dean, Bobby took a deep breath. He spoke slowly, and Dean made a show of watching his mouth move, but in truth he was listening to Cas’ thoughts as he emphasised everything Bobby said.   
“Where you been, boy?” Having discussed this on the drive over, Dean and Cas had come up with a fairly believably story about how they had met in juvy and been released around the same time. Since then, they had been doing meagre cash-in-hand work around the country, but now Dean wanted to find Sam.  
“…that’s why I came, Bobby. I thought you might know where he is. Or have heard something, at least.”  
“Your brother’s in college, last I heard. Stanford University in Cali.”  
“You see that! You see that, Cas? What did I say?” Dean almost yelled with excitement. Bobby flinched at his use of the word ‘see’ but Cas just smiled and nodded, “I knew Sammy would be in some fancy college. When was that? The last you heard?”  
“I don’t know, Dean, two years ago, maybe? He’ll be finishing soon, anyhow. How old is he now, 21?  22? So you’d better hurry up if you’re planning on going over there,” Cas translated quickly.  
“I will, thanks Bobby.” Dean jumped off the couch, pulling Cas up with him and heading for the door.  
“Wait!” Bobby yelled gruffly, “Castiel, grab him.” Cas obliged, turning Dean to face Bobby. “Now don’t get your hopes up, Dean. The kid hasn’t seen you since he was _ eight _. He might not even recognize you. But if you are gonna go over there, which it looks like you are… just don’t be a stranger, okay son?”_  
 _Bobby hugged him again, and looked awkwardly at Castiel, before shrugging and showing them both to the door._  
 _Dean looked straight ahead, tears in his eyes, as he drove down the driveway, kicking up dust._  
 _“Ready to sink deep into the chilly California sand?” –_

Cas’ mind filled with panic so suddenly and violently, Dean felt the stab in his own. He was ripped from the past and dropped into the present like an icy pool. The Impala swerved off the road for a few seconds before Dean recovered from the shock and turned the car back onto the tarmac.

“Cas! What is it? What’s wrong?” The other man’s mind was overrun with panic, his emotions fluctuating wildly from anger, to sadness, to pure, undiluted fear; and then back again to repeat the process. Dean pulled over and jumped out of the car, running around to Cas’ door and pulling him out by the shoulders. Cas’ mind quietened slightly at the touch, and his eyes flew open, unfocused and unseeing.

“Dean?” He choked before his face contorted and he dissolved into tears. His body crumpled and he fell to the ground, Dean barely managing to catch him before he collided with the dusty earth.


	8. Cas POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's mainly a looking-back chapter, but the next one will be up soon and lots of stuff happens in that one!

Back in the Impala, the two men were silent as they drove. Castiel listened to music, or rather, there was music playing. It was some Top40 station or other, he didn’t know – or care. It was just a distraction. Just a distraction.

The remnants of his nightmare licked at the edges of his consciousness, begging to be noticed, but Castiel deliberately turned his thoughts to other things. He would spell each word that was sung (or spoken – this station spoke an extortionate amount in between songs) as he heard it, keeping up as best as he could. He knew Dean would notice that he wasn’t enjoying the music as he normally did, but he didn’t care. Anything to keep his mind occupied.

“Tell me about your dream,” Dean had said, “It’ll help.”

Castiel didn’t reply, pointedly keeping his mind directed away from Dean. It obviously couldn’t stop him from reading his mind, but it delivered the message that he didn’t want to be heard.

“You were asleep for like, 30 minutes, man. Are you even supposed to dream that soon into sleep?”

Again, Castiel kept his mind focused elsewhere. Dean sighed and turned back to the road.

How could he have told him? They had never before discussed any of the haunting experiences they had behind closed eyelids. Dean had his own nightmares, anyway, and he didn’t need to be burdened by Castiel’s. This one was just so _vivid._ Dean’s screams rang in his ears, his body was paralysed with fear and yet he felt everything Dean was going through in the adjacent room, and the worst part? He had been powerless. Literally; his ability wouldn’t work. He couldn’t use the air to see, it was as if he was in a vacuum; he had no idea what was being done to Dean. Just that the screams of pain were undeniable, and Alistair’s laugh was haunting

He tried not to think about it; to ignore the absolutely devastating feeling at the thought of Dean being in pain; to bury down the emotions that were suddenly welling up inside him. He tried, and he failed. If Dean was listening, he gave no indication.

In a desperate attempt to find something familiar that wouldn’t leave him feeling lost and confused, as he so often was these days, Castiel turned his thoughts to the past.

_To reach Stanford, they would have to pass through five states. If they were driving without stopping, it would take over 32 hours. In 1,822 miles, Dean would be with his brother. His Sammy._   
_The first leg of the journey was to get out of South Dakota by travelling west, through the state, dipping into Nebraska, and stopping in Wyoming. It would be a 10 hour drive, but Dean insisted they do it in one go - “bathroom breaks only” – and by the time they reached Motel 6 in Laramie, it was 9:45pm and the pair were exhausted. They collapsed into their (separate) double beds and drifted from consciousness._   
_The next day was nearly as brutal, but Dean’s aching back and legs had encouraged him to drive for only 8 hours with several food and coffee breaks in between. It was during one of these coffee breaks that Castiel informed Dean of some grim news._   
_“We’re running out of money.” He’d thought._   
_“What? No that ain’t right – we can’t be! Here, let me look.”_   
_Castiel waited patiently as Dean counted the pitiful number of bills they still had._   
_“$53,” Dean remarked grimly, “That might pay for a room tonight.”_   
_“We’ll just have to find a town and go to a bar,” Castiel’s thoughts turned to darts._   
_“We don’t have time, Cas!” Castiel heard Dean’s fist make contact with the table in the small roadside coffee shop. “Sam’s out there! He’s my brother. I don’t know where Dad is, so Sam’s all I got, man.” His voice cracked on the last word, which Castiel chose to ignore. He turned his attention on Dean, mapping out his features, his posture, the curve of his shoulders as they slumped._   
_“Dean.” He began stubbornly, “I understand that you want to see your brother, but we can’t get there if we don’t get some money.” Castiel kept his voice calm and his thoughts clear, but there was no arguing with him on this, and Dean knew it._   
_“Fine. Okay? We’ll find a bar, make some cash, but then we’re out of there. Capisce?”_   
_“Yeah, I capisce.”_

_They found a motel a little outside of Springville, Utah. Leaving the Impala in the parking lot, they made their way to Black Jacks Bar in the town._   
_Dean went about finding a card game, one in which he could hustle a sufficient amount of cash, and Castiel stood by the room and mapped it out. Doors, windows, any means of escape should the need arise. Satisfied that he knew the room fairly well, he plucked a cane from the decorative stand by the door, and tapped it in front of him as he walked. He hit a few tables and bumped into a few people to add to the effect and then, after buying a beer, settled down at a small table near the dart boards._   
_He listened as the game went on, following the disturbances in the air of the players, and tried to figure out who would be easiest to hustle. Finally, he settled on a target._   
_The man was shorter than him, but not by much, and seemed almost nice – but not enough that Castiel felt any guilt about taking his money. He grabbed the cane and walked towards him._   
_“Excuse me, you’re playing darts, aren’t you?”_   
_“Um, yeah. Can I help you?”_   
_“I was wondering if you would like a game.”_   
_“Sorry, man, but no way.”_   
_“You don’t think I can do it.”_   
_“Well, uh… well I wouldn’t say you can’t-“_   
_“So play me. Fifty bucks says I can beat you.”_   
_“No way!” The man laughed. Castiel began mapping out his features as he spoke. They were plain, nothing stood out terribly; his hair was slightly long and messy. That was really it._   
_“What’s your name?” Castiel asked him._   
_“Drexyl.”_   
_“Castiel. Now that we’re friends, Drexyl, why don’t you humour me and play a game of darts. Just one.” The man, Drexyl, let out an audible sigh, the air almost whistling between his lips. Castiel waited patiently, he knew he had him._   
_“Fine.” He said finally, “Fifty bucks if you can beat me.”_   
_Castiel, of course, won. He didn’t play at losing the first game as he sometimes would (mostly because Dean had the actual $50), guiding the darts with ease through the air to hit their mark. He made a show of feeling the dart board before the game began, and took care to always count his steps aloud and ask if he was stood on the mark (since it was painted on the wooden floor, this was not put on. Castiel couldn’t see anything that wasn’t three-dimensional). Drexyl handed him the $50, shaking his hand in doing so, and Castiel grabbed the cane from the table against which it had been resting. He left Drexyl and the small band of people who had decided to watch gobsmacked as he ‘nearly tripped over a chair’ as he left the bar. He heard Dean some way off, obviously still absorbed in a poker game, and opted to wait for him elsewhere. He left him a quick voicemail and went to find coffee._

_“So this guy – his name was Patrick – he’s like, the best poker player I’ve ever seen. Apart from yours truly of course, and he was betting some serious cash, man. You can tell the guy’s not used to losing. So anyway, I lost the first few hands, naturally, build his confidence, and then BOOM, BABY! I had him, Cas! Man, you should’ve seen the look on his face!” Dean’s drunken gloat continued as they waited for their cab back to the motel, their pockets freshly loaded and their spirits high from a good old fashion hustle. Castiel laughed along with Dean, the first not nearly as drunk as the latter, and just enjoyed the feeling of weightlessness._

_At times like this, it didn’t feel like they were running – away from Perdition; towards a future. It just felt like now. Like there was no future and there was no past, and everything that happened was gone as soon as it happened. He smiled to himself. At times like this, Castiel felt like he could grow wings and join the cosmos._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the kudos and bookmarks and comments, it literally means so much to me <3


	9. Dean POV

Harvelle’s Roadhouse was a peculiar place. It looked run-down, and yet radiated life. It was isolated from society, and yet seemed the most welcoming place for miles. At least, that’s how Dean saw it. He hadn’t yet climbed out of the Impala, but he was getting there; one hand now rested firmly on the door handle ready to pull. He looked at Cas whose mind was brimming with anxiousness and excitement –much like Dean’s own- but he kept it all reigned in, directing no specific thoughts Dean’s way.

Sighing heavily, Dean yanked on the handle and climbed out of the car. Before he’d taken two steps towards the bar, a young woman appeared in the doorway, hands on her hips. He couldn’t help noting how pretty she was; blonde hair fell past her shoulders in waves and her eyes were dark. She wore a plaid shirt that didn’t quite reach the waistband of her tight blue jeans, leaving a strip of skin that spread from hip to hip exposed. Dean’s eyes flitted down and back up her figure, and she noticed. Anger flared within her which Dean picked up on instantly. He reached out to where he knew Cas would be and squeezed his arm. Cas nodded.

“Um, hello?” Cas said, his voice low and gravelly.

“We don’t open for another hour and a half” the woman replied. Cas’ mind identified her tone as quipped and angry.

“No, that isn’t why we’re here. My friend, Dean, and I were looking for Ellen Harvelle. Is that you?”

“No, it’s my mom. Who are you?” Dean sensed her curiosity growing, and her posture visibly relaxed slightly. He figured she was used to having to yell at guys who came to the bar early and refused to leave, and was just relieved that that wasn’t who Dean and Cas were.

“I’m Castiel Novak, and this is my friend Dean Winchester. We really need to talk to your mom, if that’s all right.”

“I’ll be right back.” And with that, Jo (it didn’t take long to find someone’s own name in their mind, people often thought of nothing but themselves and it tended to be quite near the surface) turned on her heel and slammed the wooden door behind her. Cas’ mind filled with confusion and Dean exhaled through his teeth. They stood for a moment, neither knowing what to do. Should they wait?

Dean opened his mouth and was about to speak when he felt a weight hit him hard and he collided with the dusty ground. His shoulder screamed in pain and his eyes burned from the dust and he was pinned beneath whatever had hit him in the first place. He could barely move, but he shifted enough to see Cas laying on top of him, his arms around his head in a defensive pose, and dust swirling around them at speeds that would put a cyclone to shame. Cas scrambled off him and stood up straight with his arms out in a crucifix position, his hair blowing like crazy and his trench coat flapping around him. Dean tried to stand, but felt the weight of the universe press down on his chest and found himself pinned beneath an invisible force. He could do nothing except lie and watch.

They were surrounded by a spinning wall of dust and a few small black rocks, easily 12 feet high, and their small circle of peace was maybe 8 feet across. Cas stood dead in the centre of it, his eyes closed and his face a mask of concentration. Dean looked into his mind, but it was too busy and too fast and too personal to Cas for him to make any sense of it; a jumble of lines and emotions and urgency. He tried to peek beyond the wall, but couldn’t keep his eyes open long enough to make anything out, his eyes burning from the onslaught of dust. What he _could_ see, though, was incredible. Cas hadn’t changed, his eyes were still screwed shut and he was still in the exact same position, except now he was about 5 feet off the ground. Dean watched in awe of how powerful and _terrifying_ Cas looked, suspended in the air and making a storm with his mind.

Clueless to what was really going on, Dean just watched. He had to admit that the way Cas looked right now would be attractive to some people, the sheer power that was obviously seething through him was enough to turn anyone on. When suddenly and without warning, the wall encompassing them fell to the ground (the little black rocks Dean had seen turned out to be bullets), and Cas fell with it. He landed heavily on Dean, unconscious before he’d fallen two feet. Dean saw two women standing on the front porch of the Roadhouse, Jo and who he assumed was her mother, staring wide-eyed at the two men on the floor, a shotgun at their feet.

_“Wha- What?” Dean choked, “What do you mean, gone?”_   
_“I’m sorry, sir, but Sam Winchester left us about three and a half months ago now,” her face was apologetic, but her thoughts were bored with the conversation and she was imagining herself elsewhere._   
_“Well can you tell me where he is?”_   
_“No. Was there anything else you needed?”_   
_Dean turned away from the receptionist and looked at Cas. He was stood a little way off, but had stayed close enough to translate the woman’s words to Dean. He began to shape a sentence in his mind, or maybe it was a question, Dean didn’t know. He had stormed out of the reception building, pushing Cas out the way as he did so._   
_He was stood next to the Impala, slumped over with his hands on her hood, when he heard Cas’ thoughts drift back into his own. When he reached him, Cas grabbed his shoulder and turned him around to face him. As he replayed the conversation he had with the receptionist in his mind after Dean had left._   
_Sam fell off the grid three months ago when his dorm room had mysteriously caught fire, killing his girlfriend Jess who was inside. No one knew where Sam was that night, but people said he blamed himself for not being there, and so for her death, and had left the next day. Running from the guilt, they said._   
_Dean seethed with rage. He had a pretty good idea who’d started that fire. The facility were bound to be pissed that they had escaped, but this? This was low. He hadn’t doubted that they’d go after Sam and he kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner, but he hadn’t thought for a second that they would resort to something like this. Those sons of bitches._   
_Cas framed the question,_   
_“So where to?” he smiled at Dean reassuringly. Dean searched Cas’ mind, but all he could find was reassurance and confidence. He didn’t doubt Dean would find his little brother, and in the end, it was Cas’ optimism that had given him the drive to go on._   
_“We find Sam.” Dean said simply, and ducked back into the Impala._   
_Cas clicked on the radio, and they heard the tail end of a song sing out_   
_“No one ever said it would be so hard_   
_I'm going back to the start”_   
_And the men almost laughed at the suitability as they set course for Sioux Falls, South Dakota._

*** *** *** ***

Dean staggered into the small living room and lowered a still-unconscious Cas onto a beat up but comfortable looking couch, before turning back to Jo and Ellen. The older woman began to say something, but Dean interrupted her,

“I’m deaf. I need you to think clearly about the words your saying, sort of frame them in your mind, or I won’t have any idea what you’re trying to tell me.” He normally did the usual pretending to lip read thing, but Jo and Ellen had just watched Cas use his mojo in a way even Dean had never seen, and he figured they had no secrets from the women now. Both women’s minds began racing with confusion and suspicion.

“Look, I can read minds, okay? If you think about the words, I’ll hear them. Or see them. Or whatever, it’s hard to explain. I won’t go digging, don’t worry, but in case you feel a little exposed..: My name is Dean Winchester. I’m an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women. Are you happy?” In truth, Dean had never had a frisky woman. Or any woman, for that matter, but they didn’t know that. As Dean said his name, Ellen and Jo’s memories were triggered and their minds filled with fragments of TV and radio announcements, along with a pretty poor sketch of Dean: “…Winchester strikes again… Highly dangerous… With his accomplice, Castiel Novak… Most wanted men in the last 20 years… Report immediately if you hear of or see either of these men…” Dean staggered back.

“A serial killer? They think we’re _serial killers_!?” Dean’s mind was swimming.

“Uh-huh,” Ellen thought slowly, framing the words more than was necessary, but she was getting the hang of it, “I’m surprised you haven’t been caught yet.”

“Fake names. We figured the government would be after us, so we check into motels as Dean Smith and Jimmy Novak. Neither of us have credit cards, so we only ever use cash. But we ain’t killers. We’re escapees.” The women’s minds filled with images of prison and orange jumpsuits and hairy tattooed prisoners with missing teeth and scars on their faces. “Not from prison, from a facility. There’s people like us, with these abilities, and they study us. But it was hell, you were always pumped full of drugs to try and make you stronger. They’d torture you all day if they thought it’d help, and you went to bed knowing that you faced the same thing tomorrow. Hell, they deafened me.” Both women looked horrified and their sympathy was practically palpable. Jo glanced at Cas.

On the sofa, Cas began to stir. His mind instantly reached out to search for Dean, who dropped to his knees by his side and took his hand. He could feel the headache searing behind Cas’ eyes and the fatigue in his body; using his ability in such a way often took it out of him, but he’d never been hit this badly before. But then, he’d never had to stop bullets or floated before.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean. They tried to shoot us. Can I have some water?”

Dean looked up at Ellen and Jo imploringly and asked for a water since Cas had been speaking only in his thoughts, and the latter sighed and left the room. Dean picked up on her annoyance, but could sense no disbelief in her mind at his story. He sat back on his haunches and looked at Ellen, his hand still in Cas’.

“So you believe us?” He asked.

“No reason not to. He called up a sandstorm and you can read minds.”

Jo re-entered the room, a glass in water in hand, and handed it to Dean. He helped Cas drink it as Jo began to form a question in her mind,

“So what do you want from us?”

Dean turned to her, suddenly nervous.

“Benny Lafitte sent us. Said you might be able to help me find my brother.”

“Benny Lafitte? You came all the way from Clayton?” It was Ellen’s mind Dean was focused on now, all but ignoring Jo’s thoughts, she hadn’t shown any signs of recognition at the mention of Benny’s name.

“We’ve come a lot further than that.”

“Okay, so Benny sent you. Well we get a lot of guys in here, you know? What’s his name? I might remember him, might not.” Ellen was ‘speaking’ a lot faster now, almost as fast as Cas could, but her background thoughts and emotions interfered a lot with what she was saying and it was hard for Dean to pick out what was being directed at him. Cas had long since learned how to separate what he was thinking and what he was actually saying.

“Sam. Sam Winchester.”

Ellen’s mind flicked through a seemingly endless list of customers, trying to identify the name with one of them, but she was unsuccessful.

“Nah, I don’t know him, Dean. I’m sorry.”

She spoke aloud to Jo, and Dean’s limited lip-reading ability picked up on Sam’s name. He turned his attention to Jo, not allowing his hope to disappear just yet. But she couldn’t match the name to a face, either, and there wasn’t so much as a flicker of recognition at the name. Her mind radiated sympathy and a single word pulsed in the centre of her thoughts.

“Sorry.”

Dean sighed heavily and turned back to Cas, mostly to hide the tears in his eyes from Jo and Ellen and whispered to Cas that how neither of them knew Sam. He squeezed Dean’s hand, sympathy rolling off him in waves. Dean could feel the exhaustion tugging at Cas’ mind and whispered to him to sleep. He responded almost instantly, drifting into a deep and dreamless sleep. Dean dropped his head, the hopelessness hitting him like a train, against Cas’ shoulder and gripped his hand even tighter as the sobs threated to rip through him. There he stayed for a few minutes until he felt a hesitant tap on his shoulder. He took a deep breath and stood up, laying Cas’ hand across his sleeping chest.

“So, listen, we got room here if you guys need a place to sleep for a couple nights,” she offered, smiling first at Dean, and then at Cas, passed out on the sofa. Dean was about to decline when a man entered the room. He wore heavy duty boots that looked as if they’d seen better days, dirty jeans, and a tatty plaid vest over a green t-shirt. A collection of silver chains hung around his neck. His hair was cut in the kind of mullet Dean hadn’t seen since he was a kid, and his mouth was moving at a mile a minute.

Jo rushed towards the man, who Dean learned from Jo’s thoughts was called Ash, and put a hand against his chest as she said something to him. He looked at Dean and said a single word that even Dean’s limited lip-reading could pick up on.

“Deaf?”

Dean nodded. He gestured wildly to indicate he could lip-read (a lot of pointing and opening and closing his hand like a puppet) and looked pointedly at Jo. He could see that she instantly understood. Ash nodded and began speaking again, this time slower.

“Hey, man, I’m Ash,” Dean listened via Jo, “Ellen’s asked me to fix you up with a credit card, right? So I just need to know what names you want to use, and I can get on with it.” Dean made a mental note to thank Ellen later, and looked at Jo again. Her mind was blank for a second before she remembered the names Dean told her they used. She relayed the names to Ash, who grinned, nodded, and bound out of the room.

“So, yeah, about that room…” Jo began, but Dean cut her off.

“Look, thanks but no thanks, Jo. It’s real nice of you to offer, but we should really go. I’ll just let Cas sleep a little longer, and we should be outta here by the time you guys open.”

Jo shrugged, and said,

“At least let me get you a drink.”

And she led Dean from the room to the bar, but her mind flooded with disappointment.

*** *** *** ***

Dean wrapped his hands round the glass of whiskey as he walked around the empty bar. The interior was all wood, and there wasn’t much to see save the dust motes dancing in the streams of light pouring in through the windows, but Dean couldn’t sit still; the disappointment made it feel as though he’d been gutted, and he wanted nothing more than to get back in the Impala and drive, but Cas needed to get some decent sleep, so Dean would have to just suck it up.

Ash sat in one corner, working furiously on a laptop, and Jo was behind the bar doing something with the register. Dean swallowed the remainder of his whiskey and set the empty glass on the bar. As he was turning away, a collection of photographs on the wall behind the bar caught his eye. He called Jo over.

“Hey, can I see those?”

Jo was confused, but nodded and gestured for Dean to join her behind the bar so he could get a better look.

Each photo featured smiling faces and at least one of the Harvelles. Each smile felt like a mocking stab to Dean’s chest, but he looked at each one regardless, desperate to be distracted from the crushing weight he felt on his shoulders. He saw a photo of Ellen with Benny and smiled slightly before moving on. The next photo felt like a punch in the gut. He plucked it off the wall.

The photo was of Jo smiling sweetly and being dwarfed by the giant of a man standing beside her, his arm around her shoulders and hers around his waist. He was young with a mop of brown hair and a broad smile on his face. Could it? No. They said they didn’t know him, and they obviously knew this guy pretty well, especially Jo. But the age was just right, the hair was almost exactly as he remembered, the dimples were virtually a mirror of the ones he had explained to Cas, and the eyes? Well Dean would recognize those from a mile away, he was sure of it. He built up his courage, mentally preparing himself for another disappointing blow, and took the photo to show Jo.

“Who’s this?” He asked quietly.

She took the picture from him and smiled as she regarded it.

“Sam Wesson,” she thought simply, her mind filling with happy memories and laughter, “He comes in here sometimes. Why?”

She looked up at Dean, and then back to the picture in her hands. Her eyes widened and her thoughts raced and she looked at Dean again. He broke into a smile and nodded.

“I think so.” He said and grabbed Jo and hugged her tightly. He felt her shoulders shake with laughter.

Ellen appeared on the other side of the bar, confused. Jo handed her the picture and said something, and Ellen was suddenly smiling, too. Dean’s chest felt like it was going to burst with the new surge of hope running through him and he weight lifted from his shoulders. He felt as though he could simply float away. Float. Cas! He had to tell him!

Jo seemed to read his mind and grabbed his arm as he turned towards the back room. She looked at him sternly and shook her head.

“Let him sleep. Sit down, and I’ll get you a drink and tell you everything I know about Sam Wess- Winchester.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because so many people asked for an update soon I thought I'd post this now, hope you like it!


	10. Cas POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote two new chapters today, so I figured I'd upload another one for you guys. I really liked this one, so let me know what you think! As always, all kudos, comments, bookmarks, and hits are much appreciated <3

The room was unfamiliar, his memory was hazy, his head hurt, and Castiel was scared. He tried frantically to get up, but as he put a hand down on the sofa cushion to support himself, he trapped his coat which dragged him back down when he tried to stand. He was panicking now, almost hysterical. The smell was unfamiliar, musky and woody with an underlying scent of dust, and he couldn’t hear Dean anywhere nearby. He tried to draw himself a map of the room, but his mind refused to cooperate and any use of his ability left him with knives in his mind and aches running through his body. He had no idea where the door might be or even the size of the room. He considered shouting, but Dean might not hear him… and who knows who would?

He forced his breathing to slow, imagining a slow pulsing in his mind that rang ‘safe’ and with every pulse he would exhale. He needed to remember what had happened after they had arrived at Harvelle’s and the girl had gone to get her mother. Happy that his breathing had slowed and he was no longer in a state of panic, Castiel ignored the pain ringing in his head and forced his mind backwards, starting from the last thing he remembered, “I’ll be right back…”

Suddenly, it came rushing back to him. They had shot at Dean! They’d tried to hurt him and Castiel’s instincts had kicked in. He’d deflected the bullets, keeping the air around himself and Dean moving so fast it threw them off course. It wasn’t intentional, he had no idea what he was doing; the power just surged through him, and he let it. He remembered waking up briefly in this room, and Dean had been holding his hand, which meant he was safe. Dean was okay. What had he said when Castiel had woken up and hung for a while in the place between oblivion and reality? It hit him, falling on his chest like the weight of the stars; they didn’t know Sam. Didn’t know where he was, how he was, _who_ he was. Castiel’s heart ached for Dean. How was he? He must be crushed, his hopes were completely pinned on the Harvelles knowing his little brother, and now what? The hopelessness Castiel felt would be infinitely worse for Dean. He had to find him, had to make sure he was okay.

He tried to stand again, getting it right this time, and tried once again to map out the room. The pain cut through him like blades of both fire and ice. Unable to find his exit, Castiel felt trapped.

He heard a noise. Or did he? Was it just wishful thinking? He held his breath, listening carefully. There it was again! Muffled and distant, but goofy and undeniable: Dean was laughing. No longer caring whether he walked into stuff, Castiel made for the source of the sound, his being aching for Dean’s presence.

*** *** *** ***

He tripped through the door, only just saving himself from landing heavily on the wooden floor.

“Cas? What are you doing up? Are you okay?” He felt an arm wrap around his waist as his weight was supported and recognized Dean’s homely scent and instantly relaxed. “Your mind’s… quiet, Cas. Like, real quite.” Dean paused. “Your mojo’s not working, is it? You aren’t reading the room at all…”

Castiel was instantly ashamed and he felt his face flush. He tried to be reassuring and hopeful, for Dean, but he hated not being able to feel what was around him and felt on the cusp of tears every time something made him jump or he stubbed his toe or he tripped. He was sure it was temporary, he’d just exhausted his ability, but it didn’t make it any easier.

“You’re sure?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded. It was temporary. He’d get it back, he just didn’t know when.

 Like a train, shame and guilt hit him as he remembered that the Harvelles didn’t know Sam and Dean must be heartbroken and Castiel was being so selfish and only thinking about himself.

“Cas! Whoa, it’s okay! They know him.” Dean almost yelled, arm squeezing around Castiel’s waist even tighter, despite the fact they were no longer walking. “There’s this picture, and man Cas, you should see him. Kid’s outgrown me! He always said he would, but I never thought…” Dean’s voice hitched and he released his hold on Castiel. Wood scraped against wood and Castiel assumed Dean was now sitting on a bar-stool.

“We can go find him, Cas.” He said quietly.

Castiel nodded, a smile tearing across his cheeks. Who cared if he couldn’t see where he was? He didn’t need to. Dean was here with him, and Dean was happy. What else mattered? He felt a surge of excitement and hope fill his chest for the other man, accompanied by the tiniest pang of worry.

If Dean found his brother, what then for Castiel? He doubted if Dean would even want him around anymore, a thought which bothered Castiel way more than it should. He felt a hand grip his shoulder, making him jump.

“You and me, Cas. We’re gonna find him. Tonight.”

  
_“He what!? A fire? Are you sure?”_   
_“Yes, Bobby. That’s what the lady at the reception told me.” Castiel was acting as Dean’s voice again in the homely living room._   
_“Poor kid…” Bobby muttered, more to himself than anyone else, and then: “You boys want anything to drink or anything?”_   
_Dean nodded and looked to Castiel._   
_“Dean would like a whiskey. I’m all right, thank you.”_   
_Castiel let his mind wander as Bobby left the room to fix Dean a whiskey._   
_“Why haven’t you told Bobby about our abilities?” He asked Dean. The other man walked over to him and whispered quickly, not wanting Bobby to overhear._   
_“I don’t want him to think I’m a freak, Cas. The guy’s the closest thing I had to a dad.”_   
_“He won’t…” Bobby re-entered the room, his feet first echoing loudly on wood floor and then landing with soft thuds on a thick rug. Castiel started singing loudly, “I want to break free… I want to break free…!”, and Bobby’s mind was instantly crowded with confusion, amusement, discomfort. Sam would be momentarily all but forgotten, and Dean would be pissed._   
_“Cas, cut it out.” Dean snapped, and then silence. Bobby walked over to Dean slowly._   
_“What did you just say?” he hissed. Okay, so he was angry._   
_Dean shifted beside Castiel uncomfortably, his breathing quick and erratic. Castiel’s own breath was being held in his lungs, waiting to be freed into a happier and less tense environment. Dean cleared his throat._   
_“Okay, so, here’s the thing…”_

_Dean and Castiel gave Bobby more or less the same explanation they would later give Jo and Ellen, and Bobby listened quietly, interjecting only to ask a question or make a comment (“Son of a bitch” was a common one, and Castiel had a pretty good idea that this was where Dean had picked up the favored phrase). Talking about the facility and what happened there would never get any easier, but with the other by their side, Dean and Castiel managed to tell the story almost completely._   
_Bobby slapped Dean across the head before pulling him into a tight embrace._   
_“Why didn’t you come see me sooner? What is it with you Winchesters? Your old man was the same.” Bobby didn’t get the hang of speaking to Dean using only his thoughts, but it didn’t matter if he spoke aloud. Dean could listen to his and Castiel’s thoughts to figure out what was being said._   
_“Uh, yeah… speaking of, Bobby, where is he?”_   
_“What?” Bobby’s voice changed, it was clear he was uneasy and had only said it as a means of stalling; coming up with an answer to a question he’d rather avoid. Castiel understood all of that from his voice, which meant Dean and his access to Bobby’s thoughts would know even more._   
_Bobby swallowed and shifted awkwardly._   
_“Go and see Benny Lafitte, Dean, Cas, in Clayton, Louisiana. He might know where Sam is.” And with that, they were ushered out of the house, Bobby claiming he had someone coming into the scrap yard that he had to see._

_Back in the Impala, heading south once again, Dean was fuming. Castiel could tell. He drove fast, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, and his body radiated tension. Neither man spoke for the first hour or so. When Castiel flicked on the radio, Dean leaned forward and promptly switched it back off again. He was very angry, then._   
_“Dean.”_   
_Castiel’s thoughts went ignored, though he knew Dean could hear him. Stubborn as ever, he kept trying. Eventually, Dean couldn’t ignore him anymore._   
_“What, Cas?” He snapped._   
_“You’re angry.”_   
_“You think? He just threw us out on our asses, Cas. Of course I’m freakin’ angry. Aren’t you?”_   
_Castiel couldn’t stop it. He’d gotten pretty good at hiding his thoughts away, and only letting what he allowed bubble to the surface for Dean to read, but he couldn’t stop his sense of relief seeping through. Dean picked up on it immediately._   
_“You’re glad he didn’t tell me! You son of a bitch, Cas! He’s my dad, I ought to know where he is.”_   
_Now Castiel was angry, too._   
_“He was an ass, Dean! Why do you even want to see him? He’s the one who got you caught in the first place!”_   
_“You just don’t get it, Cas. You don’t-“ He stopped abruptly._   
_“I don’t what?” Castiel challenged. Both men knew what Dean was going to say, it hung stagnant in the air between them._   
_“You don’t have a family!” Dean yelled back._   
_Castiel used his ability to stop the car dead, as if it had hit a wall._   
_“What the hell, Cas?”_   
_Ignoring Dean’s clamour from the drivers’ seat, Castiel climbed out of the Impala and stalked across a dry field that bordered the road. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he went, replaying the words over and over again in his mind._   
_You don’t have a family… You don’t have a family… You don’t have a family…_   
_Like he didn’t know that? Castiel had spent his whole life acutely aware of the fact he had no family, and Dean knew it. Dean knew it better than anyone because Dean could see the way it haunted at the edge of his mind almost 24/7. Dean knew. And he’d still said it._   
_Behind him, Castiel heard the door of the Impala groan as Dean pushed it open. He called Castiel’s name. Castiel just kept walking. Eventually, he was standing near a fence at the far edge of the field, and a good 1600 feet from the Impala and from Dean. He breathed deeply, calming himself down, gulping the air. Some minutes later, he heard foot falls crunching behind him, he turned and waited for Dean to reach him._   
_“Cas, look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that; it was a dick move on my part, and… well I’m sorry, man.” He finished lamely. Dean had always sucked at apologies, but Castiel could hear the sincerity in his voice. He deliberately kept his mind blank, knowing it would frustrate Dean to not know whether or not he was forgiven._   
_“Cas, I know you may not want to hear this right now, but it’s you and me, buddy. I’m sorry I was being a dick, but having a family isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, anyway. Hell, I had one and I still ended up here. I mean… what I’m trying to say, Cas, is that your family don’t matter, okay? If they’re gonna do something so stupid as to give you away, that’s their problem, not yours. But you know what? You don’t need ‘em. You know why? Because we’re family. I need you, Cas.”  
_


	11. Dean POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little shit and haven't updates for ages sorry!

Sam was supposed to go to the Roadhouse that night. Whether he would actually show or not was a different story, but he was _supposed_ to, and that’s all Dean had to go on. He tried to stay calm, he really did, but by 9:30pm the bar was full and Dean was buzzing. He and Cas tucked themselves into a corner booth, Dean facing the door, and talked idly. Every so often, Jo would come over to top up their drinks (beer for Dean and water for Cas, who still wasn’t 100%) and check that Dean was okay. Every time, he said he was, and every time, Cas would scoff.

“You’re obviously not okay, Dean. What time is it now?”

“Uh…” Dean dug his phone out of his pocket, “It’s 9;30. D’you think he’s gonna show?” Dean glanced at the door anxiously as it swung open for what felt like the millionth time that night, and for the millionth time, it wasn’t Sam who strolled in.

“It’s still early, Dean. He might.”

And so they waited, both anxious, for the boy who might never arrive.

After 30 more minutes, Dean couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up abruptly and marched over to the bar.

“What time does he normally show?” He demanded. Ellen was trying to serve three other people, but she still managed to pause long enough to frame something in her mind.

“Look at the door, son.”

Dean turned, still angry, and then halted. The door was open wide and through it, ducked Sam Winchester, all 6’4” of him. Dean froze for a moment, watching how he brought into the bar an air of happiness and at least seven people turned to greet him as he strolled over to the bar. Suddenly, Dean ran back to the booth, grabbed Cas’ shoulder, and yanked him into the back room they’d been in earlier.

Cas’ mind blossomed into confusion as he stumbled along after Dean. He still didn’t have all his mojo back, but he had enough that Dean didn’t feel too guilty about dragging him behind him roughly.

“He’s here, Cas! Oh man, what do I do?”

Cas just broke out into a grin and chuckled lightly at Dean’s sudden nervousness. In response to which, Dean hit him on the shoulder. He sensed someone stood behind him and turned to face the door.

“What the hell, Dean? I thought you wanted to see him?” Jo said, obviously angry that Dean hadn’t followed her mental script of how the Winchester reunion would go down.

“I did- I do,” Dean replied lamely, wringing his hands. Cas stood beside him idly, listening to only Dean’s half of the conversation and trying to map the room slowly, ignoring the dull ache in his head,

“Newsflash, dick, Sammy just left the building.”

“What?” Dean’s head snapped up, and he grabbed Cas’ hand to drag him down the corridor back to the main bar. He stared around frantically, and Jo was right, Sam was nowhere in sight. Cas’ mind was wild with confusion and questions.

“He left. We gotta go find him, I ain’t losing him again. Who visits a bar for like, five minutes anyway?” Dean yelled back at Cas as he dragged him through the crowds of people. It felt as though he was in a dream, running as fast as he could and yet getting no closer to the door that lay just out of his reach. Eventually he broke through the crowd and the two men fell over each other out the door. They stood on the small porch, the only light from the ever-dimming bulb that hung from the awning. Dean looked around. There was no sign of Sam.

Suddenly, he felt a fist collide with his cheek and stumbled backwards. Cas had been pushed against the wooden door of the bar and was sitting in a heaped slump on the ground.

Dean got his bearings quickly and shoved the guy back. They fought, each getting in a few hits, each taking a few. Pain exploded in Dean’s mouth and he expected that the bruise was already forming, and he caught a glimpse of blood from the other man’s nose. Dean pinned him and as the light finally shone on his face, Dean figured out who it was.

“Woah! Easy, tiger.” He smiled, releasing his hold just enough that the other guy could see his face in the dim light.

Recognition dawned on Sam’s face.

“No matter how tall you get, I can still pin you, Sammy.”

Sam flipped Dean off him and rolled around so that he was pinning his older brother to the dusty floor.

“Or not.” Dean conceded, and Sam climbed off him and both men jumped to their feet. Dean went straight over to Cas to help him up and gave him a quick once-over. He seemed to be fine, if a little disorientated. Dean introduced his brother and his friend quickly.

“Cas, Sam. Sam, Cas.”

The taller man held his hand out in front of him, waiting for Cas to take it. Without his mojo, Cas had no idea that Sam was doing and just smiled and nodded.

“Hello, Sam.”

Sam’s hand dropped lamely, and he looked at Dean.

“Oh! Cas is blind.” Dean said.

“And Dean’s deaf.” Cas added.

Sam paused, looking first and Dean, then at Cas, and then back again. Now that he wasn’t being attacked, Dean could focus on Sam’s thoughts and tried to follow them as best as he could. Sam was amazed and a little sceptical of Dean being here. He was immensely guilty at pushing Cas out of the way now that he knew he was blind. He was incredibly embarrassed, and wholly uncomfortable. Dean looked through his mind, not digging too deep, but having a look just below the surface thoughts. Sam’s mind was reserved, as if there were things he didn’t like to admit even to himself, and Dean found it hard to look through. It was like Sam knew someone was looking, and put up walls accordingly. Dean could, however, pick up Sam’s memories of news reports and public announcements that there were two serial killers on the loose, and that Dean Winchester was one of them.

“Are you in a rush?” Dean asked, “There’s some stuff I think we should explain.”

Sam shook his head and lead Dean (who lead Cas) to his car – a 2006 SRT8 Dodge Charger. The night was clear and not too cold, so the men could talk in the relative privacy of the parking lot instead of the crowded bar, and it gave Sam a chance to hold a bandage to his bloody nose. Dean watched him silently. He still had a mop of brown hair and whenever he winced in pain from pressing the bandage to his nose, Dean could see faint dimples in his cheeks. He wore a dark purple t-shirt with a silhouette of a dog on it. For some reason, the t-shirt stuck in Dean’s mind as if it were important.

The three of them leaned on the bonnet of the car, the unasked questions suspended in the air around and between them. He could feel Cas and Sam’s discomfort layered over his own, and was glad they felt it was just as awkward as he did. Eventually, he worked up the nerve to speak.

“Okay, Sammy, so here’s the thing… I guess I’d better start with the day I was arrested, huh?”

Dean told Sam about the past fourteen years: the facility, the research, the drugs, the chemicals, the guards, the scientists, the escape, and the Sam-hunt.

_So they continued south to see Benny Lafitte._   
_It took them three days to reach him, including stops, which happened a lot more often as a result of Dean’s guilt at what he’d said to Cas about not having a family. Though the other man had forgiven him, and they had walked back to the Impala together across the field, it still bothered him that he would say it at all. Where had it come from? It wasn’t Cas’ fault Bobby didn’t want to tell him where John was. Dean had decided there and then that he would never forgive himself about what he’d said. He had two jobs in this world, as far as he was concerned: look after Cas, and look after Sammy; and right now, he was failing pretty successfully at both of them._   
_Whatever._

_They reached the gumbo shack in which Benny worked in the late afternoon and decided to eat there and get an idea about Benny before they asked him about Sam. They also decided not to tell Benny about themselves, just that Cas was blind. He didn’t need to know that Dean was deaf, as long as Cas was there, Dean could hear just fine._   
_Dean read the menu board out to Cas and they both ordered gumbo from the brown-haired woman at the register and sat in a booth as far away from the other diners as possible._   
_They were talking quietly – well, Dean was talking, Cas was thinking – when a man appeared behind the register and began talking to the woman. He had a short beard and short hair, a little lighter than Dean’s own, and he wore a dark green apron. Dean turned his attention that way and learned that the man was, indeed, Benny. He nudged Cas and whispered._   
_“He’s behind the register. Benny Roy Lafitte. A chef. The woman, Elizabeth, doesn’t really know much about him.”_   
_Cas nodded and the men continued to eat as normal, as if nothing had changed._

_Elizabeth called from the register that they were closing in ten, and Dean and Cas collected their coats and made to stand. They thanked her and left the diner, the bell above the door ringing their departure. The woman followed closely behind them and smiled when she saw them climbing into the Impala._   
_“Chef’s closing up tonight, so I get to go home early. That man is a gift from the angels, I tell you. You have a good night.”_   
_She climbed into a small blue car and pulled out of the diner parking lot._   
_Some 20 minutes later, Benny left the diner and locked the door behind him. Dean walked over to him, Cas in tow, and greeted him like an old friend._   
_“Benny?” He called, “Benny Lafitte? Hey, man!” Dean extended his hand which Benny took, his confusion clear, and Dean clapped him on the shoulder with a smile._   
_“I thought it was you in there. How you been?” Dean asked joyfully. It was having the desired effect on Benny who began sifting through his mind, bringing up the name of almost everyone he’d ever met. Sure enough, the name Sam featured. It might not be the same one, but it was worth a shot._   
_“Uh, I’m good. I, uh… who are you, again?” He spoke with a distinct southern drawl that Dean recognized even through Cas’ thoughts._   
_“It’s Dean! You know, Sam’s brother?”_   
_Benny’s thoughts turned hostile and he grabbed Dean’s wrist from where it was still perched on the other man’s shoulder._   
_“Sam? You’re Sam’s brother? Tell him that if he ain’t gonna trust me, that’s fine, but at least let me live my own damn life.”_   
_Dean didn’t know how to react; he hadn’t anticipated this. It literally hadn’t crossed his mind for a second that Sam might have enemies. Well turns out he did, and Dean had found one. Dean felt anger roll off Cas in waves, and he wanted more than anything to force Benny back from Dean, but he refrained. They had agreed not to tell Benny about themselves, and Cas would respect that. Even if he hated it. Dean sent him a silent thanks, hoping somehow that it would reach him, and turned back to Benny._   
_“Well, I would… Totally unrelated, but you don’t happen to know where he might be, would you?” Benny barked out a laugh._   
_“I like you. Try Harvelle’s in Nebraska, brother. I hear Sam’s there a lot. Now get the hell away from me.”_   
_He smiled and pushed Dean, playfully but hard, who fell back and would have fallen on his ass had a convenient invisible wall not appeared just behind him when it did._

_“Let’s find a motel, man, I’m beat. Maybe they’ll have a computer so I can look up this ‘Harvelle’s’ place – if it’s even real.”_   
_Cas just nodded._

Dean’s younger brother listened carefully and Dean watched his mind to ensure he was processing everything. He was, working through each piece of information methodically and storing it away.

Eventually, Dean got around to explaining about how he could ‘hear’ and speak, and how Cas could see, normally, but that right now he was suffering some mojo-impotence. As Dean’s voice faded out, the three were thrust back into silence, which Dean experienced through the minds of the men either side of him. Cas, who had been silent until now, spoke.

“Why did you attack us?”

Dean heard the question both, as Cas framed and asked it and as Sam heard it. Sam’s head snapped up and he looked guiltily at the other two.

“I… uh… I saw your reaction when I walked into the bar, Dean. It looked like you were hiding from me, like you didn’t want me to know you were there. I didn’t see your face, though. I just saw this guy try to hide from me. So I left to see if you were actually following me, and when you did, well…”

Cas nodded and lapsed back into silence. His shoulders were relaxed as he leaned back against the hood of the black car, but his mind was as energetic as ever. He was slowly getting his mojo back, Dean noticed, and had a rough idea of what was immediately around him. The lines were fuzzy and jumped about a bit as Cas tried to make them fit, but he was getting there. It wasn’t just his ever-strengthening mojo that had Cas’ attention though. Cas was worried, Dean felt stupid for not noticing it before, but there it was as clear as day. He was worried that Dean would leave him and choose to go with Sam instead. He put a hand on Cas’ shoulder and squeezed, hoping to whoever was listening that Cas got the message.


	12. Cas POV

Dean’s hand on his shoulder did little to calm Castiel’s nerves.

He was happy for Dean, overjoyed in fact, and yet he couldn’t shake this ominous feeling that lurked over him, behind him, and all around him. It wasn’t that he was worried Dean would forget about him, for he knew he couldn’t. Dean and Castiel would always share a bond stronger than most people would ever encounter in their own lives; it was almost impossible to be through what they had been through with someone and not feel somewhat attached to them. They depended on one another. Castiel was just worried Dean’s loyalties would be divided.

It was selfish and cruel, but Castiel couldn’t help it. For the past ten years it had been Dean and Castiel against the world, but now? Now Dean had Sam. They were family. Castiel would be… not forgotten, but put on the back burner. Who would he have if not Dean?

He tried to push the thoughts guiltily out of his mind and returned to the present. He felt something cold and wet press against the back of his hand where it rested on the hood of the Dodge. He took it from Dean’s hand and quickly worked out it was a glass bottle. The cap had already been removed and Castiel took a long swig.

The beer was cheap tasting but refreshing and Castiel thanked Dean.

“It’s Sam’s,” Dean replied and Castiel could hear the smile in his voice. Something as small as sharing a beer with his little brother had etched an audible grin onto Dean’s face. Envy panged within Castiel before he could stop it. Dean must have noticed, but he ignored it. Castiel took another swig.

The brothers made idle small talk and Castiel listened. Sam spoke aloud, rather than in his head, much to Castiel’s relief. He felt a lot more included when he could hear the entire conversation, whether he was actually contributing or not. Dean asked an absentminded question about Sam’s time at Stanford and the three men stilled, the question suspended in the air somewhere above them.

“I’m sorry, man, I didn’t think. I, uh…” Dean began. Castiel could faintly make out what he assumed was Sam raising his hand to silence his older brother.

“It’s all right, Dean. It’s really not as bad as I think you think it is.”

“Not as bad? I spoke to the woman at the desk, Sam, I know about your apartment and your… your girlfriend.”

“Yeah? What’d they say? That there was some mysterious fire and Jess dies?” A beat of silence. Castiel thought he could see Dean nodding. “Well, I may have a bit of explaining to do, too.

“So, here’s the thing. When you were arrested – or whatever – Dad went nuts, man. He was angry at first but then it kind of died and he got really guilty. We looked for you, Dean, we really did. No police records had ever heard of you, which I guess makes sense now, but Dad thought you’d just split. Paid some guy to pretend to be an officer or something, I don’t know, and left. I tried to tell him you hadn’t, but we never got along that well at the best of times, huh? So anyway, Dad’s pissed at you and so at me, but the next ten years are pretty normal. Well, our-family-normal, anyway. We carried on the way we were, moving around, but this one time when I was nineteen, Dad and I get in this fight, this real big fight, because he found my acceptance letter from Stanford. He told me not to come back and I never did. After a while, I stopped calling, too.

“Stanford was good, Dean. I was finally out of the family business, you know? No more dingy motel rooms or endless car journeys to nowhere. It was just a normal life. I met Jess and we got an apartment and I was about to get into Law School, I had an interview and everything. So anyway, the night before my interview I came home late from a hunting trip and Jess was asleep. I was about to shower but then Jess is right there and she looks scared, Dean. Like really, really scared. She didn’t say anything, but she practically dragged me down the fire escape. We’d only just climbed out the window when the apartment went up. It burned fast, man. I don’t know how it started…”

Dean and Castiel were silent for a minute, and the latter weighed up what he’d just heard with what he already knew. When Dean failed to speak, Castiel asked:

“And the apartment burned down... when?”

“Nearly four months ago, why?”

“We know who burnt it down, Sam.”

Dean still hadn’t said a word, when he suddenly cried out.

“You’re engaged to Jess! You are! Aren’t you?!” Castiel could just about see Dean grab his little brother by the shoulders and pull him down for a hug. Sam laughed and hugged Dean back, awkwardly.

“Yeah, Dean. We’re engaged.”

“Shouldn’t she have, I don’t know, asked my permission first?” Dean asked.

“You weren’t here, Dean,” Sam laughed. Dean grumbled in response.

_The two get on like a house on fire_ , Castiel thought, before realising and kicking himself at the analogy. Dean nudged him playfully, letting him know it was okay, and his heart lifted. He was being silly thinking Dean would choose Sam over him, or rather, thinking that it would matter. Of course Sam would come first to Dean, they were family, but Castiel realised that was okay. What he and Dean had was different. Besides, Dean needed Castiel to hear stuff, so for the time being at least, they would stick together.

*** *** *** ***

“House hunting!?” Dean cried. He seemed to be doing that a lot tonight; crying out in disbelief, raising his eyebrows, that sort of thing. Sam sighed loudly and opened the door to his motel room, which was next door to Castiel and Dean’s.

“Yes, house hunting. Jess and I are gonna need a place to live.”

“So, wait. Jess is house hunting,” Dean repeated. It wasn’t really a question, but Sam answered anyway.

“Yes, Dean. Jessica Lee Moore, my girlfriend Jess, is house hunting for a house for me and my girlfriend Jessica Moore to live in. I can’t make that any clearer!”

Dean huffed and mumbled some kind of response, low enough that not even Castiel could hear it, and headed towards the door to their own room, and Sam chuckled. As Castiel turned to go, he felt a hand on his arm.

“Uh, Castiel?” he asked, sounding nervous.

“Yes, Sam?” Castiel was secretly thrilled Sam hadn’t called him Cas, the nickname would have sounded wrong tumbling from anyone’s lips but Dean’s.

“Thanks, for looking out for Dean. And uh, for helping him find me. And for not freaking out about me attacking you; when Dean told me what you did when Ellen shot at you… Just thanks.”

“Of course, Sam. I’m glad you and Dean have found each other,” Castiel replied. He was pretty sure he meant it, too.

“Me, too. G’night.”

And with that, Sam shut the door to his motel room. Almost in the same instant, Castiel heard Dean call from behind him.

“Cas, I pray to you. Get your feathery ass in here or I’ll lock this door with you on the outside.”

“I can unlock it anyway…” Castiel mumbled as he ambled towards where Dean was. His ability was almost ‘fully-charged’ as Dean said, but he still ran a hand along the wall to his right. Dean laughed and stepped aside to let Castiel in keeping one arm stretched across the doorway, forcing Castiel to duck under his arm and press against him awkwardly as he slid past.

Castiel saw a swaying outline of Dean flop down onto the hazy outline of a bed, his duffel dropping heavily beside him. He lay on his back silently for a minute staring at the ceiling. Castiel crossed the room to the other bed.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel thought in response as he sat down and started removing his shoes.

“Sammy’s getting a house.”

“Yes, Dean.”

“No, what I mean is, Sammy’s getting a house. He’s on the run, just like us, and he’s getting a house. So maybe, I don’t know, maybe we could get a house, too?” Dean hadn’t moved and was still lying on his back with his arms straight out to his sides. Then, as an afterthought he added, “Separate houses, obviously. Just imagine. An apple-pie life…”

Castiel didn’t allow himself to feel the pang of disappointment that threatened him.

“He isn’t on the run ‘just like us’, though. The government aren’t looking for Sam and Jessica like they’re looking for us, Dean.”

There was a silence in which Dean sat up. A dull ache cut through Castiel’s mind, from straining to use his ability or just tiredness, Castiel didn’t know. He wanted more than anything to lie in bed and sleep a dreamless sleep, but he pushed the thoughts down and turned to Dean.

“I’m sorry,” he thought. And he was. Dean deserved an ‘apple-pie life’.

“Nah, you’re right. Hey, how you holding up?”

“I’m fine. My ability returning is making my head ache, or maybe it’s just tiredness, but I think if I sleep well I’ll be all right by tomorrow.” Dean didn’t answer, but got up and headed to the bathroom, laying a hand on and squeezing Castiel’s shoulder as he passed. The door clicked shut and the shower hissed on and Castiel fell back into the bed. He was trouser-less and under the thin covers almost instantly, and he allowed his being to melt into the bed, inviting sleep to him.

As always, when he needed it most, sleep eluded him. Thoughts swam around his head. Not deep, profound thoughts, but regular thoughts – the kind that shouldn’t keep him awake. As the minutes ticked by he became more and more frustrated, and by the time Dean re-entered the room after his shower, Castiel was well and truly embittered. Dean fell onto the bed opposite him and sighed. In minutes, he was asleep.

Irritated, Castiel got out of bed and left the motel room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really should get around to naming the chapters so if you have any suggestions please let me know!


	13. Sam POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! Sam POV for the first time. Let me know if you like it <3

He was leaning against his dodge listening to the automated voice repeat what it had told him three times already. Jess wasn’t picking up.

He heard a door open and shut and looked around to see Castiel emerge from his and Dean’s motel room. The shorter man interested him beyond belief. Sam may have only known Dean for eight years, fourteen years ago, and admittedly, he couldn’t remember a lot of it, but the Dean he’d known was the Dean that came _before_ Dad taught him emotions were a bad thing. Before he decided that looking after his little brother was more important than looking after himself. Before he changed. To see Dean that way again, after all these years, with someone Sam didn’t know was astounding. What was it about Castiel that made Dean so comfortable and just so… Dean?

Castiel must’ve sensed him there, because he walked over to him slowly.

“Sam?” he called uncertainly.

“Uh, yeah, Castiel. It’s me.”

“Oh, good. My ability still isn’t working properly. It’s… inconvenient.” Castiel had reached him and had carefully manoeuvred himself so that he was leaning on the bonnet beside Sam. He stared straight ahead of him, unseeing. Sam regarded him carefully before he reminded himself to speak.

“Uh… Can’t sleep?” he asked lamely.

“No,” Castiel answered without turning his head, “And Dean’s fast asleep so I thought I’d come out here for some fresh air.”

“Yeah, me either,” Sam replied, though he was certain it was for a very different reason. Suddenly, a thought entered his mind and it made its presence far too obvious for Sam to ignore. In order to quieten it, he would have to ask. “So, you and Dean. Are you, uh, are you sharing a bed in there? I mean it’s totally fine if you are, I mean-“

“No! No. Separate beds, it’s all very platonic,” Castiel replied. His voice was even, but Sam could see the red stain patter at his cheeks like blood falling on snow and the way he turned away slightly, subconsciously trying to hide himself from Sam. His hands retreated into the sleeves of his tan trench coat, another sign of trying to hide, and his shoulders slumped slightly.

Sam nodded, then remembered and mumbled some kind of acknowledgement, and went back to thinking about Castiel and Dean. So they weren’t together, that was a bit of a surprise, but there was definitely something there, at least on Castiel’s end. He’d be damned if not on Dean’s as well, the way he acted around him, all doe eyes and oh-so-slight leans towards Castiel. You’d have to be blind not to notice. _That makes sense_ , Sam thought to himself a little guiltily.

He and Castiel were silent for a while, the latter lost in thought it seemed, as Sam watched the stars. Castiel shifted slightly and cleared his throat. Sam looked at him expectantly.

“Sam, what’s going on with you?”

“Wha- What do you mean?” Sam spluttered in reply. How had he known? Dean hadn’t even known and he could _read minds_ for God’s sake.

“I’m not sure, but there is something, isn’t there?” Castiel had turned to him slightly and his head was tilted in question. His squinted eyes, though unseeing, seemed to bore into Sam’s very soul. He inadvertently stepped back slightly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Castiel. Why do you think something’s going on with me?”

Castiel stepped closer to Sam. “Don’t ask stupid questions,” he advised gravely.

Sam felt as though the air around him had gotten thinner. Recalling the nature of Castiel’s ability, he realised it probably had.

“All right, fine,” he conceded after taking a few unsatisfying breaths, “There is something. Dean… Dean isn’t the only Winchester that got an ‘ability’.” Sam lifted his hands to do air quotes around the word ‘ability’ but remembered the futility of it half way through and dropped them back to his sides lamely. “I, uh, I get these premonitions, I guess you’d call them.”

“You see the future.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah, I guess. Only, I don’t control when I get them or what they’re about. Normally I get them when I’m asleep, like a dream. They can be about anything; it’s how I’ve stayed under the radar this long, I can always stay one step ahead of whoever might find me since I only really see stuff if Jess or I are in danger.” He looked at Castiel to try and gauge his reaction. The dark haired man was perfectly still, waiting for Sam to continue. Reluctantly, he did so. “Anyway, a couple days ago, I get one while I’m awake, which I haven’t had since… well, it doesn’t matter. But in this premonition I see Ellen shooting at some guys, and then me fighting with one of them, and… You get it that I had to come down here and make sure Ellen was okay. I didn’t know it was Dean.”

Castiel thought for a moment. “When was the last time you had one while you were awake?”

Sam hesitated. He hated himself for this, buried it deep down enough that even he sometimes questioned its existence. “When Dean was taken.”

He’d never admitted it to anyone, other than Jess, and even she didn’t know all of it. He hadn’t just seen Dean get taken before it happened, he saw it all. For six months before Dean was taken, he had these premonitions. He saw that Dean had gone to get Sam a soda. He saw the questions the guy was asking, and Dean’s answers. He could have stopped it from happening a million different ways. He could have not asked for a soda, or pretended to be scared so Dean had no choice but to stay in the room. Rationally, he knew that he was only a kid and didn’t understand what he was seeing as he saw it, but he still felt the guilt consume him every day as he relived the memories. It was his greatest sin, to have let Dean down in so many ways.

Castiel just nodded as if he understood completely.

“It isn’t your fault, Sam. Dean being taken isn’t a burden for you to bear.”

The words comforted Sam in a way his own mind couldn’t, despite them saying almost exactly the same thing. Maybe it was because Castiel and Dean seemed to know each other inside-out, and if Castiel wasn’t angry at him, maybe Dean wouldn’t be either. Sam felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and he reached out to squeeze Castiel’s. At the touch, the other man stiffened and then relaxed, and turned back to lean on the bonnet as he had been before Sam had told him.

Just like that, it was as if Castiel hadn’t just heard Sam’s biggest secret, and the two men made idle chit-chat. They discussed Sam’s college life, Jess, Dean and Castiel’s time on the road and how it compared to Sam and Jess’, the poor quality of motel rooms and the elation when you actually got a decent one. For close to an hour they talked, until Castiel announced that he was probably tired enough to sleep now, and retired back to his motel room.

*** *** *** ***

Finally, Jess answered the phone.

“What, Sam?” she snapped in lieu of hello. Sam winced; she was still angry, then.

“I wanted to see how you were… How are you?”

Jess hesitated, and in a much softer voice than a second earlier, replied. “I’m fine, baby. How are you?”

“I’m good. I have a lot of stuff to tell you…”

Sam went about explaining the events of the evening, leaving out his late-night conversation with Castiel on the hood of the Dodge. When he finished, Jess was silent.

“Jess…?”

“Sam, that’s great! We’re so happy for you! So what’s he like, your brother? Is he tall, too? Why are your family all giants?”

Sam laughed into the receiver.

“What would I do without you?” he asked.

“Hmm… Crash and burn,” Jess replied happily, and they were back to their usual ways.

“So, have you found us a house yet?”

“Maybe. I want you to come look at it before I decide, but it looks pretty good. Both bedrooms are big enough, and the yard is pretty big. We can move in straight away, too. I’m not stay with my Aunt any longer than is absolutely necessary, she’s driving me nuts.”

“So lots of room for junior, then?”

“Yeah, when he decides to leave the place he lives now.”

Sam could picture Jess, beautiful and content, stroking at her swollen belly absentmindedly as they spoke. She was due in a 3 months; Sam knew she wouldn’t last that long. A thought suddenly hit him.

“We’re gonna have to pick a new name for him,” he said suddenly.

“What, why?” Jess sounded genuinely confused.

“Well we can’t name him after my estranged brother if he’s not estranged anymore.”

“Why not? I like Dean. He feels like a Dean. Anyway, I’ll talk to you when you get back. No more running off, though, okay? I don’t care how urgent your vision is, you still have time to say goodbye.”

Sam agreed.

“Love you, Jess.”

“We love you too, Sam. Don’t we, Dean?”

And with that, he rang off. Deciding he was tired enough to sleep without having a premonition, Sam collapsed onto the hard mattress. He was dead to the world in seconds.


	14. Dean POV

The darkness was engulfing. In that almost-inebriated state of confusion so often associated with slipping from sleep to the waking world, Dean lay still in the motel bed. He could hear Cas breathing on the bed across from his own, and could tell from the way his mind was working that he was asleep. After a few moments, Dean had his bearings enough that he could sit up. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he dragged a hand down his face to try and wipe away the sleep that still lingered in his mind. He rested his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands together, and stared at the floor in front of him as his eyes adjusted and pitch-black became a murky, dim light.

He didn’t remember his dream, but he was certain it was a nightmare; his pulse was still slightly quicker than usual, and he was covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat. The light from the screen practically blinded him as he checked his cell for the time. It was 5:30am, and he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep. Cas was still sleeping soundly, and a quick glance into his thoughts revealed that he wasn’t currently reliving anything hellish, so Dean couldn’t even pretend he had reason to wake him.

Dean sighed and stared enviously at the sleeping figure on the bed. Cas looked so peaceful when he was asleep. He snored ever so softly and his breathing was even and slow. He slept in the foetal position and he was curled up in a way that suggested he was on defence, even in his sleep. A result of Perdition, no doubt. Dean tried to mirror the other man’s breathing, forcing his heart rate down.

Suddenly, he was aware that his breathing had evened out a long time ago, and he’d just been watching Cas sleep for – he glanced at his cell again – twenty minutes. _That’s creepy,_ he thought to himself and blamed it on his still slow-from-sleep brain. Reluctantly he stood up and pulled on the same jeans he wore the day before. The shower would surely wake Cas, so that was out of the question, so Dean would have to go somewhere;  what did central Nebraska have to offer at 6 in the morning? At best, he was hoping for a coffee place.

Failing that, the cheap dishwater coffee from the 24 hour gas station would have to do. The sun was threatening the horizon, and Dean leaned against the Impala as he watched it.  He didn’t admire its beauty, or marvel at the scene, or make up his mind that there _must be_ a god since this couldn’t be accidental, he thought about Cas. What Cas wouldn’t give to watch this sunrise. To see the sun at all. To see for himself how the far the horizon stretched and to _know_ that he could travel beyond it if he wanted to. To really see his freedom. Cas never really considered sight; being blind since birth, he had no idea what he was missing. But every so often, when Dean would laugh at something he’d seen, or when he talked about colours, especially, he sensed the dull pang of longing deep within Cas. So deep, he doubted if Cas himself could feel it – or paid attention to it. Once again, Dean vowed to show Cas. Somehow.

He turned his attention to the day before, thinking about Sam and his thoughts. What had he been hiding? There was definitely something, Dean had sensed it straight away. He thought there was probably a lot of somethings, but he couldn’t ask. You don’t meet up with your brother for the first time in fourteen years and suddenly start asking him about his thoughts and his secrets. 24 hours before, Sam thought Dean was a serial killer, and Dean thought Sam was some crazy hermit after his girlfriend died. It was overwhelming for both of them just to see each other, alive and, more or less, well. For Sam to then learn that his brother was a freak who had been kept in what was basically a prison for his freaky power, as well. Well, that was enough for one day. They hadn’t discussed what they would do next. Where they would go… Hell, if it even would be ‘they’. Maybe it was enough for Sam just to know that Dean was alive and well and not a serial killer and that would be it. Have a good life. Dean sure didn’t feel that way. He thought about it as he gulped down the remainder of his coffee and went to buy two more cups.

*** *** *** ***

He may have loved watching Cas sleep, but he loved waking him up even more. It was 9am, late enough that he could wake him without risking serious injury to himself, and he burst through the motel room door with a coffee in each hand. Cas jerked awake and a sleepy kind of smile ghosted across his face.

“My ability’s working again,” he said simply, and then: “You brought me coffee, right?”

Dean handed one of the steaming cups to him and sat on the edge of his bed. Cas took a sip and sighed contentedly.

“You know you shouldn’t make this a habit. I expect coffee every time you wake me up now.”

“You did anyway.”

“That’s true, but you would always deliver. I’ll never learn if you pamper me.”

Cas, who was now sitting with his back against the wall and his knees pulled up, kept his coffee cup floating a few inches above the mattress. Dean scooted back so he, too, had his back against the wall and they drank their respective coffees quietly. After a while, Castiel spoke.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Dad,” Dean replied, and it felt silly just saying it out loud. But this was Cas.

“Where d’you think he is?” Cas slurped his coffee obnoxiously, as he had with every morning coffee they had shared since the escape.

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted, and if anything was worse than admitting he was thinking about his Dad, it was admitting that he didn’t even know where to look. “He might not even be alive.”

He could see in Cas’ mind that he, too, had been entertaining the thought that John might have died sometime in the past fourteen years. Well, the past three years if Sam had last seen him when he was 19. Cas’ thoughts turned to Sam and there was something shadowy, something hidden, but Dean was too distracted by his father to pursue it.

“We could ask Sam,” he suggested.

“We could,” Castiel agreed, “After we shower. You stink, Dean.”

Dean’s breathing hitched and for a fraction of a second he actually thought Cas meant that they needed to shower together. In a moment, the thought had passed and Dean felt the heat rise to his cheeks. Well, some rose to his cheeks, some sank into his stomach where it pooled familiarly in a way that, lately, had been too often associated with Cas. He shifted his legs awkwardly, trying to act natural, but not wanting to move too much for fear of seeming too awkward and Cas guessing what was going on in his head. Cas was silent and expectant and Dean realised he’d allowed the insult to fly straight over his head without rising to it, which was totally unlike him. So much for acting natural, then.

“You… stink,” he retorted lamely. He never was one for come backs.

“Oh, ouch,” Cas deadpanned in his mind, his amusement at Dean’s pathetic response all too clear, “And for that truly painful comeback, I think I should get first shower privileges.”

“I got you coffee…” Dean began to whine, but his words died in the air as if he were yelling into a storm. He scowled at Cas who was the textbook definition of smug. This was obviously a perk to his mojo he’d only recently discovered.

“I’m sorry, Dean, I can’t hear you.” And with that, he shut the bathroom door behind him. Grumbling, Dean got up to throw away the cardboard coffee cups and find some clothes in his duffel. He was in dire need of a visit to a Laundromat; there were only so many ways you could wear a pair of underwear for them still to count as clean. Eventually, he settled on a pair of jeans that didn’t have any visible stains (well, maybe one or two) and a t-shirt whose smell didn’t quite make him gag. Yep, it was definitely laundry day.

*** *** *** ***

Both showered and in relatively clean clothes, Dean and Cas threw their bags into the trunk of the Impala. Dean shut it and sat back against it, staring at Sam’s car and waiting for the man himself to emerge from his motel room. _Maybe he’s conditioning his hair_ , Dean thought.

“You aren’t missing anything. It’s ugly,” he said to Cas, who was leaning on his front against the side of the car, with his arms folded on the roof and his chin resting on them like a pillow.

“What?”

“Sam’s car. It’s ugly.”

“You don’t really think it’s ugly.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s not ugly, but it ain’t a patch on Baby.”

“Baby?” Castiel was smirking and Dean could sense his amusement and his struggle not to laugh. He realised with a start that he’d only ever referred to the Impala as ‘Baby’ in his mind.

“Yeah, Baby.”

“The car.”

“Yeah.”

“The car is called Baby.”

“Yes.”

“It’s not even your car. If it weren’t for Bobby’s scrap yard, it would still have Kentucky license plates on it.”

“Sh, don’t listen to him, Baby.” Dean cooed as he stroked the top of the car and Cas laughed. Across the lot, Sam finally stumbled out of his motel room. He looked rough, as if he hadn’t slept, and Dean couldn’t help notice that he definitely _hadn’t_ conditioned his hair. Cas heard Dean’s laugh die in his throat and turned to Sam, seeing nothing but the shape of his body in the air and so not picking up on how unwell he looked.

“Morning. Sleep all right?” Dean called to him as he crossed the lot.

“What? Uh, yeah. Sleep? Yeah. Thanks,” he squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose - an action Dean was all too familiar with when it came to dismissing bad dreams.

He wasn’t dumb; he knew Sam was hiding something, and he knew he hadn’t slept last night (not well, at least), and he suspected the two were related, and he knew Cas knew about whatever it was. He was used to Dean reading his thoughts, so he was pretty good at hiding stuff, but the guilt he felt at keeping it from Dean had made the mind-reader suspicious, so he dug around a bit to find it. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he had, and had found some memories of a hushed conversation in the parking lot the night before. He was almost bursting with wanting to know what it was about, but he planned to keep quiet for now, and he had limits on how far into Cas’ mind he would go; the man deserved _some_ privacy. Sam would tell him in his own time. Failing that, Cas would probably tell him before long; he wasn’t good with guilt.

Sam had reached them by now and was stood kind of awkwardly on the opposite side of Baby. The question hung in the air: _What now?_

Dean knew what he wanted: first, he wanted to find a diner and have a greasy breakfast while their clothes were at the Laundromats; he wanted to talk to Sam about Dad and find out where he was. Did he want to find Dad? He didn’t know. But maybe knowing where he is would be enough.

Looking into Sam’s thoughts he could see that he, too, was hungry, and Cas was always hungry. So Dean put stage 1 of his plan into action and the team set off to find a diner. He didn’t miss the worried lines etched into Cas’ forehead whenever Sam spoke or crossed his mind, but he opted to leave it for now. One thing at a time, and right now, that one thing was breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops another chapter hi


	15. Sam POV

Having dropped Dean and Cas’ clothes off to be cleaned, the three men squeezed into a window booth in Biggerson’s and talked about nothing until Dean brought up Jess - again.

“So, Sammy, this Jess of yours. She cute?” he asked, taking a drink of his coffee.

Sam thought about Jess. He couldn’t help it, the images flooded into his mind. He saw her in a Smurfs t-shirt and underwear in their apartment at college. He saw her the day after the fire, hair pulled back messily and yet still beautiful although it was still smoke-stained. He saw her as she was now; 6 months pregnant and glowing and happy.

Dean sucked in a breath, choking and spluttering on the coffee he’d just inhaled. The whole mind-reading thing would take some getting used to, Sam realised.

“You’re having a _kid_?” he stammered. Cas shifted, more alert and listening carefully, but he still looked straight ahead. Even Sam had realised that there were two Castiels. One that existed around Dean – and now him, he realised – and one that existed in public. When talking with people he didn’t know, Cas’ body language was different; he would look at people instead of stare straight ahead, for example, which Sam assumed he had picked up from Dean. His movements and mannerisms were just more… social. If you didn’t know, it would be hard to tell he was blind. His eyes looked normal, if slightly unfocused, and he could get around just fine due to his ability.

“Yeah. We’re having a boy.”

“So this fire. You climbing down the fire escape. Jess was-“

“Three months pregnant, yeah.”

“Son of a bitch.”

A thoroughly bored looking waitress walked over to take their order. She had short black hair and wore a red dress as uniform. Sam noticed a rabbit’s foot attached securely to the set of keys clipped to her waist. When she spoke, it was with a British accent. Dean stared at her curiously, before shrugging and glancing at the menu.

“What can I get you boys? Refill?”

Sam nodded and she poured coffee into the three mugs on the table. Dean and Cas were speaking in hushed voices, Cas speaking out loud, probably so as not to draw attention to Dean who would otherwise be talking to himself. While they (what seemed to Sam like) argued, the waitress took Sam’s order of a salad with bread and looked at the other two men expectantly.

Dean looked up and ordered a Pig n’ a Poke, and Cas asked for a burger. The woman left.

“Nope, nothing!” Dean hissed at Cas. There was a pause during which Sam assumed Cas was answering in his mind. “Yes, I’m sure. I’m telling you man, I can’t hear her thoughts.”

“You what?” Sam asked. “That can happen?”

“No, it can’t happen. That’s the thing. It’s like I’m blocked out. It’s really annoying, too, because I’m sure I recognize her…” Dean trailed off and looked at Cas, his eyes wide. Cas looked petrified.

“You didn’t happen to see what her nametag said, did you Sam?” Dean asked, his voice betraying no emotion. Sam was on edge; he had no idea what was going on, but he felt like he would have to run pretty soon.

Sam glanced at the waitress who was now behind the register, talking into a cell phone. She glanced at him and grinned. “Uh. Katy? No.. Kary! It said Kary.”

“Okay. Sammy, we’re gonna run. Okay? You are too. We’re all gonna get up, casually walk out. Then when you’re near your car – no less than twenty feet – I want you to run. Get in, and drive.” Dean’s voice was calm and collected and he could just as easily been discussing the menu which he was now gently putting down on the table. There was a flash of emotion in his eyes: fear, rage, uncertainty; and then it was gone. His eyes were dead, glasslike. Sam saw briefly the soldier the facility tried to turn Dean into, devoid of emotion and soul.

He rose out of the booth and Dean did the same, grabbing hold of Castiel’s wrist as he did so. The three of them walked toward the door calmly and Sam pushed it open. Dean passed through it, still clutching tightly onto Castiel, and Sam followed closely behind them.

He could see his car; 50, maybe 60 feet away. It was parked a little down the street from the Laundromat where Dean and Castiel’s clothes were. The Impala was closer. His heart beat in his ears and his stomach fluttered. He had an ominous feeling in his chest and was suddenly hit by Déjà vu. He saw this, last night, the agonizingly slow walk across and out of the parking lot. If only he’d known what he was seeing.

“Shit, run!” Dean suddenly cried, in the same instant as a van swerved into the parking lot from the other side, so it was behind them.

Sam’s instincts kicked in at the pure fear in Dean’s voice, and he broke into a sprint. His long legs meant long strides, and he knew he would cover the distance in a matter of seconds, but it felt infuriatingly slow. Everything happened in slow motion. He ran and glanced to his left, where Dean had dropped Castiel’s arms and both men were running side-by-side. They ran surrounded by a strange blur, as if the light were slightly warped, and Sam heard gunfire from behind them. These guys were obviously trained if they could get out of the van and line up their shot in that time. Bullets flew past his face and he watched as they flew past Castiel and Dean. They always seemed to curve in the last second; their path altered just so, so that they missed their mark every time. Fear gripped him icily. These shooters weren’t missing their mark because they couldn’t shoot, they were missing because Castiel was making them miss.

They were approaching the Impala.

“Get in!” Castiel roared to Sam, who obliged happily. He tumbled into the back seat, only just managing to fold his legs in before he slammed the door and Dean and Cas climbed into the front. The car was started in an instant and Dean sped down the street as fast as the protesting engine would allow. Sam regarded his Dodge sadly through the back window as it disappeared from view as the Impala swung around a corner.

The men were silent, each one listening to his own heartbeat in his ears. Sam glanced out the back window uncertainly, fearing that any second he would see the van approaching, but all he saw was the town of Ericson grow smaller and smaller as it turned into just a part of the landscape.

Sam thought about Jess, and how he had to get back to her before the baby was born. She was in Kansas, only a state away, but Sam felt as though she might as well be on the other side of the world.

*** *** *** ***

Ten hours and 56 minutes had passed, and 619 miles had disappeared beneath the tyres of the Impala. Sam’s butt and legs had long since fallen asleep, as had he a couple of times. Dean had refused to stop, glancing every so often in his rearview mirror, until they reached the far side of Colorado. Now they were on the outskirts of Craig. Barely ten words had been spoken since that morning. The sun dipped below the horizon a couple of hours ago, so the men sat in the dark in the parked car. No one spoke.

Suddenly, Dean hit the wheel with the heels of his hands and climbed out of the Impala. Cas didn’t flinch at the movement like Sam did and quietly climbed out of the car to follow Dean. After a moment of deliberation, Sam decided to follow, too.

He didn’t know what he expected to find on the edge of the ironically named Victory Way just outside of Craig, Colorado, after his recently un-estranged mind-reader brother climbed out of his classic car angrily because he was shot at by some guys from a van after Kary the waitress turned them in… but it wasn’t this. Dean had his elbows on the roof of the car and his head in his hands. His shoulders were racked with sobs, and Castiel stood just behind him with a hand on his shoulder. Sam noticed they did that a lot, put their hands on the others’ shoulders, and wondered if there was a specific reason for it.

He stared, unspeaking, at his brother and Cas. What could he say? He’d never, even when they were kids, seen Dean cry. Not that he could remember, anyway. And now here he was, 26 and already been to hell and back, crying in the dark in Colorado. They stayed that way for a while, long after Dean’s sobs had ebbed; Dean looking defeated, Cas looking to comfort, and Sam just looking. Eventually, Dean dragged his hands down his face, suddenly aged ten years, and stood up straight. He briefly laid a hand over Castiel’s where it was perched on his shoulder before turning to face him. He nodded and then turned to Sam.

“Sam, listen…” he began.

“No, Dean-“ Sam began to protest but he was too slow in framing the thoughts and Dean took the opportunity to keep talking.

“Sam, listen. I’m sorry. The last thing you needed was for me to come in and mess up your… apple pie life. With your girlfriend, and the baby, and the house-hunting… you got _out_ , Sam! Of the motels and the crap. And I’m sorry I dragged you back in, I am, but they saw your face. The waitress, Kary? Her name’s Bela Talbot.” Cas flinched. “I knew I recognized her. She works for the facility. She’s a _recruiter_ ,” Dean practically spat the word. “Says she procures unique items for a select clientele. _Items_. Anyway, she’s the best of the best, man. She found us once, she’ll find us again. There must be a huge number on our heads if she’s working it-“

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam thought, quietly but definitely, effectively interrupting his brother.

“And I just- What?”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t honest with you Dean, I have an ability too. I get these… premonitions. Just little stuff, you know? To keep me safe. I saw the parking lot last night. I should’ve told you. Maybe if I had…”

Dean stepped forward and pulled Sam down into a tight embrace. Sam’s mind filled with every other hug they’d ever shared as children: when Dad was angry, in most cases. When Sam was scared of the dark in others. Dean had always been protecting him, even if there was nothing to protect him from.

Sam broke the hug, pushing Dean away gently. He reached up to the collar of his shirt and searched beneath it, finding the black string. In one swift movement, he pulled the necklace from around his neck and held it out in between himself and Dean. The moonlight glinted off the golden amulet as it spun slowly, suspended on the string. Dean stared at it, wide-eyed, before reaching out tentatively and plucking it from the air. He closed his fist around it, and looked back at Sam, smiling widely before pulling him into another hug.

Sam relaxed into the embrace, finally feeling as though he really had his brother back, and tightened his grip around Dean’s shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *if things keep going how they're going, I should be done soon!*


	16. Cas POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to the wonderful Chilton (http://smirkingcastiel.tumblr.com/) for being my beta!

When Dean made Sam promise to tell him every premonition he had, he hadn’t been expecting this. He was reeling, as was Castiel, at what Sam had just told them.

“She had this dark red hair… pale skin and sunken green eyes… her eyes kept darting around like she could see things that weren’t there… as if she could hear things no one else could hear…”

Sam had seen Anna; it must be Anna. He’d seen her sitting in a diner. Anna was out of the facility.

There were two possibilities that Castiel could see. Either Anna had escaped, which was unlikely since security had probably at least doubled since Dean and Castiel, or, the facility was using Anna to track them. The latter seemed the more likely possibility. Part of Castiel felt guilty; he hadn’t wanted to leave the other subjects in Perdition, if it were up to him they’d have helped everyone escape, but he knew it wasn’t plausible. It had been hard enough getting two out, let alone 76.

The other, more prominent, part of Castiel was scared. If they were using Anna, it would be much harder for Dean and himself to stay hidden. Her ‘official’ ability was that her senses were all heightened to a point almost beyond human comprehension, and that she could operate fully within their boundaries. However, it was widely speculated in Perdition (by subjects and guards) that she could hear otherworldly things, too. Some said ghosts, some said angels, some said it was just her own mind; whatever it was, it told her things that she had no way of knowing. If they were using Anna, Dean, Sam, and Castiel were in a lot of trouble.

“So they’ve got Anna and they’ve got Bela. First things first, we need to fall off the grid completely,” Castiel said, aloud to Sam and outlined in his mind to Dean, once he’d recovered from the initial shock. Ever the strategist, his mind went into overdrive coming up with a plan that would keep them safe. “We also need to think who else they might use. If they aren’t opposed to using Anna, then I doubt they’ll be opposed to using any other inmates, either.”

“He’s right,” Dean said to Sam, and then: “Sammy, listen. Those guys saw you. Bela saw you. So you can try and go back to Jess and to your family, but honestly, you ain’t got a snowball’s chance in Hell. They’ll find you, and when they figure out about your psychic thing, they’ll take you. Say goodbye to your apple-pie life, man.”

Sam sucked in a harsh breath, but other than that, the three were faced with silence. Castiel saw Sam’s looming figure, a few inches taller than Dean, as he thought about what Dean had said. Their conversation had given Castiel enough time to concentrate enough on his surroundings to get a decent lay out of Sam’s facial features. He could see the long, pointed nose, and the shape of his jawline and forehead. He could see that he was biting at his lip with straight teeth, and that his hair was long and fell into his face. Castiel decided that Sam had a friendly face.

“I have to go with you.”

“Are you sure?” Castiel was genuinely surprised at Sam’s answer, and couldn’t help but let it show in his question which was meant to be a lot calmer.

“Well, yeah. I mean, you’re still my brother, Dean, and I have to help you – I want to help you. And I can’t go back to Jess just to bring them down on her, too. Especially not now with the baby. It’s not fair.”

Castiel sensed Dean step closer to Sam and clap him on the shoulder. He smiled; these brothers belonged together.

“So… what do we do?” Sam asked.

“We could try and find Dad,” Dean suggested quietly, nervous as to what Castiel and Sam’s reactions would be, no doubt. Memories of the argument in the car after they had left Bobby’s slithered into Castiel’s thoughts; Dean saying those words that both men had tried so hard to forget: You don’t have a family. He sensed Dean wince slightly as he heard the words through Castiel’s mind and felt the pain that automatically accompanied them. Despite this, both men remained silent and waited for Sam’s reply.

“I don’t think Dad wants to see me,” he eventually replied.

“You think I’m in his good books, either? But Dad was a cop before Mom died. One of the best. He saved people and he might be able to help,” Dean responded.

“Okay,” Castiel began, again speaking aloud and in his mind, “But before we find John, if that’s what you want to do, we need a place to sleep tonight, and then we need help falling off the grid. We could go back to Ash.”

“No, we can’t go back that way,” Dean reminded him, “Especially to the Roadhouse, it’s not fair to put Jo and Ellen on Perdition’s map. We need someone else.”

“Call Bobby,” Sam suggested, fully getting the hang of speaking to both Castiel and Dean at once. Dean nodded his agreement, got out his cell and dialled as Castiel spoke.

“Okay, so we need to be hidden enough that Anna and Bela can’t track us that fast but we need to have enough freedom to find John. Sam, just tell Bobby we’re coming then text Jess to tell her you won’t be able to call much. Then we’ll ditch our phones. Later you can call her from a payphone to explain fully. Dean how long will it take to get to Bobby’s from here?”

“Avoiding highways? About 13 and a half hours,” Dean replied, handing Sam his cellphone. Castiel could just about hear Bobby’s tinny “Hello?” through the speaker.

“We can do that in one day if we take turns driving. Now, we need to find a motel.”

Finding a motel didn’t take long, and by the time they got there a field along Victory Way had gained three new cell phones. Castiel checked out two available rooms, and the three men all agreed to leave early the next morning; ideally, they would travel at night, but they were too tired tonight and tomorrow night would be too late, so they just had to hope that avoiding highways and security cameras would be enough. Between them and their abilities, any major disasters should be easy enough to avoid, they reasoned.

Bidding goodnight to Sam, Dean and Castiel retired to their own room. Castiel briefly wondered why they still got a room together, but then he considered the alternative. He hadn’t slept in a room without Dean since the escape, and honestly, he didn’t know if he could. Growing up in foster homes meant that the only time Castiel had ever slept in a room alone was in Perdition, which in itself was a terrifying thought, and he felt as though it would be a lot easier for nightmares to get a hold of him if Dean wasn’t there.

He pulled off his coat and draped it over the back of a chair before sitting on the bed to remove his shoes. Dean was in the bathroom. The room was simple and took seconds to work out, so Castiel was instantly at ease there. The days’ events replayed in his mind, the awkward car journey dominating his thoughts. He’d spent most of it trying to cheer Dean up: replaying happy memories in his mind, thinking about nothing (which Dean found therapeutic), and listening to music. Despite his best efforts, though, Dean had remained a stone statue for the entirety of the eleven hour drive. Castiel didn’t like that Dean; the emotionless one. He often wondered if there were parts of Dean that were just by-products of Perdition’s ruthless conditioning. He’d been carved and moulded for what must have felt like a lifetime, so it wouldn’t be a surprise. Castiel couldn’t help but think about it. He also thought about himself; were there versions of him that had been created,  ones that were now controlled, by Naomi? He shuddered.

Dean emerged from the bathroom, bringing with him steamy air and warmth from the shower. Castiel decided to shower in the morning, opting now to burrow into the bed and stay there for as long as possible. He did so, removing his pants and shirt so he was only in his boxers, and enjoyed the feeling of the mattress beneath his back. It may be slightly lumpy, but it was there and he could feel it. Dean sighed quietly from across the room.

“What’s the matter?” Castiel thought.

“It’s nothing,” came the reply.

“That’s not true, Dean. I may not be able to read your mind, but I’m not dumb. What’s the matter?” he repeated, highlighting each word a little more than he had the first time.

“Come on, man. Can’t you see? I’m… I’m poison, Cas. People get close to me, they get hurt. I’m the one who made you leave Perdition with me, and now I’ve dragged Sam away from his perfect life. You know, I tell myself that I’m doing it all for the right reasons, and I believe that. But I can’t… I won’t drag anybody through the muck with me. Not anymore.”

Castiel was surprised. Dean was good, he was righteous, and here he was saying he didn’t deserve to be helped. Didn’t deserve to be saved.

“I suggested that we leave Perdition in the first place, Dean,” Castiel reminded him, at a loss of what else to say. Dean didn’t reply, so Castiel continued. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved. Do you know what your problem is, Dean? You have no faith.”

“Faith,” Dean scoffed, “what is there to have faith in, Cas?”

“In me. In Sam. In you, Dean. You can hear what I’m thinking, you can feel what I feel, so tell me: is there a single doubt in my mind about you being good? That you’re a good man? Stars would die for you, Dean Winchester. Everyone knows it; Sam knows it. He doesn’t blame you for this, for any of it. He loves you, Dean.” We both do.

Dean was silent, and Castiel could sense that he had collapsed onto the other bed. He wasn’t asleep, but he wasn’t going to say anything else, either. Castiel sighed, rolled over, and succumbed to the nightmares like an old friend.


	17. Dean POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for being wonderful!
> 
> beta'd again by the wonderful chilton (http://smirkingcastiel.tumblr.com/) <3

_We both do. We both do. We both do._

It buzzed around in Dean’s head, touching on every thought, every memory, demanding his full attention.

_He loves you, Dean. We both do._

Cas had tried to hide the thought, to press it down as if it weren’t there, and Dean had almost missed it… but he hadn’t. And now it wouldn’t leave him alone.

He was acutely aware of each lump in the mattress. The wallpaper in the corner was peeling and discoloured even in the dim room, lit only by the moonlight drifting through the wispy curtains. Somehow, the stark white light looked unclean.

Cas had meant fraternal love; like a friend; like a brother. Nothing more. Dean didn’t care, why should he care? He didn’t love Cas, so why did his chest flutter when Cas had thought those three words? He rolled over to try and escape the thoughts. Evidently, it wasn’t enough. They kept filling his mind, those eight letters, arranging and rearranging themselves until they didn’t make sense and Dean couldn’t follow them but just felt as though he was drowning. They seeped into every corner of his mind, blocking out his senses; he couldn’t see, couldn’t feel; he couldn’t move. They ran down his throat, acrid and metallic, choking him. Suddenly, his wrists, ankles, and stomach were strapped to a table. He tried to move, to scream, but his muscles wouldn’t respond. Panic filled him in an instant; this was familiar, all too sickeningly familiar. All he could do was lay there, with the acrid blackness filling his nostrils and his mouth. He could hear Alistair; the last thing he’d ever hear was that serpent-like voice saying, “Dean, Dean, Dean. You have such promise…”. He was there somewhere, behind him, beside him. Where was he!? A hand clamped across Dean’s mouth, thumb digging roughly into the hollow of his cheek.

Cas stood above him, his terrified face only inches from Dean’s, light glaring around him like a distorted kind of halo, his hand clamped across Dean’s mouth just as Alistair’s was seconds prior. Dean sat up quickly, leaning on one elbow, the other hand shooting up to his mouth to grab Cas’ fingers. Cas’ hand slipped to cup Dean’s cheek, with Dean’s own hand covering it. They stayed that way for a moment as Dean breathed heavily, still fearing the nightmare that remained looming at the edge of his vision. He stared into Cas’ eyes, which grew more and more relaxed with each passing second. Suddenly, Dean noticed their position and shifted uncomfortably. Cas stood up and stepped back. He was in nothing but boxer shorts, obviously having leapt straight from his bed to wake Dean up, and his dark hair was tousled even more than usual, sticking up unnaturally at all angles. Dean couldn’t help but smile.

“It sounded bad,” Cas said, his voice broken with sleep.

“Uh, yeah, it was,” Dean replied quietly. When had he even fallen asleep? Last he could remember he was worrying about Cas saying… those words. He stared at Cas who regarded him coolly in return.

“What time is it?”

“Huh?” Dean dragged a hand down his face.

“Time.”

“Oh, uh…" Dean fumbled around for his cell before remembering he threw it into the field. He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up properly, glancing at the radio alarm clock. “6am.”

“Early.” Cas remarked. Dean looked into his mind. It was sluggish, sleepy; clearly Cas hadn’t had the best night’s sleep either. Dean felt a sudden pang of guilt that Cas had saved him from his nightmare, and he hadn’t done the same for him. “Coffee?”

“Sure, thanks.” Dean dropped his head into his hands, elbows on his bare knees. When Cas didn’t move, he looked up again. The other man still stared at him. “You want me to get it, don’t you?”

“Thank you, Dean. You know how I like it,” Cas replied, suddenly cheerful, as he walked towards the bathroom and shut the door behind him. Dean smiled tiredly and pulled on his jeans. As he pulled on his shirt, he winced slightly. Their only clean clothes were in a Laundromat in Ericson. Great. On top of everything else, they were going to need new clothes.

He shrugged, nothing to be done about it now, and grabbed the keys as he left the motel. There was a gas station just around the corner from the motel, but Dean figured he would go a little further and get a Starbucks, so he jumped into the Impala and underwent the ten minute drive. He was relaxed as he drove, melting into the leather upholstery of the Impala and enjoying the feel of the road beneath her tyres. His nightmares disappeared like exhaust fumes into the wind, and his worry about Cas dispersed. Who cared about how they felt? Yeah, they were friends, but why did they have to think about it all? Dean decided to just see what happens. He’d spent fourteen years being tortured and moulded to fit some stencil, so Hell if he wasn’t going to have some fun now that he was out.

*** *** *** ***

Balancing the three cups of coffee, Dean whistled outside the motel room door. It was opened almost immediately, and he was pulled inside roughly, the door slammed shut behind him. Cas stood before him in nothing but a towel.

“I have no clothes, Dean.”

“Yeah, me either, buddy. We’re gonna have to find some,” Dean replied, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. He the cups down and unloaded his pockets of sugar packets, napkins, stirrers, and the display tea-bags they keep out front to try and entice customers. He had this habit of collecting what he could, when he could; you never knew when it might come in handy.

Cas sighed and picked up one of the cups, inhaling its scent deeply.

“Put something on, man, I’ll go get Sam.”

“It’s 6:30 in the morning. I doubt Sam wants you to go and get him.”

Dean glanced at the radio alarm clock, and then at the third coffee. Cas was right.

“Okay, then. Put something on so we can go get more clothes.”

“Fine,” Cas grunted, and stalked to the bathroom, grumbling, with his coffee cup following behind him at about shoulder height. In seconds, he re-emerged with his coffee cup in hand and the same trail of curses falling from his lips as if unbroken by the barrier of the door. Dean laughed and held the room door open for him, clicking it shut behind them. He felt a little guilty about just leaving Sam, so he left the coffee in front of his door with a scribbled note on a napkin tucked under it. Yeah, it’d be cold when he found it, but it was his own fault for sleeping so damn late.

Dean climbed into the drivers’ side of the Impala as Cas fell into the shotgun position, smiling when Cas instantly went to fiddle with the radio.

“Cas, the town is like a five minute drive,” Dean reminded playfully, but was secretly glad. Music was just what he needed. He listened to the lyrics through Cas as he drove, allowing it to take over his mind.

Guess who’s living here with the great undead

This paint-by-numbers life is fucking with my head

Once again.

The irony struck Dean enough to make him smile; Perdition had done everything they had to separate Dean and Cas into these paint-by-number people, destined only for one thing and one pattern, never going over the lines. But now their lives were messy; they obliterated the lines in a splash of colour.

“Hey, Cas. Do you believe in Destiny?”

“Destiny? Um, yeah, I guess. I’ve never really thought about it.”

“I don’t. I mean, don’t give me that holy crap. Destiny, God’s plan, it’s all a bunch of lies. It’s just a way for people to keep you and me in line. You know what’s real? People. Families. And we got that, you and me and Sammy. It may be all we got.”

*** *** *** ***

They’d ducked in and out of at least a dozen backyards and not one had any clothes out drying that Dean and Cas could take due to it being so early. The pair got back into the Impala, low spirited and grumpy, the doors slamming shut to isolate them from the outside world. Dean peered into Cas’ thoughts since he normally had the best ideas in situations like this, and he didn’t disappoint. Right at that second, Cas was thinking about how low security dry cleaners usually were and how easy it would be to just sneak in and take stuff. Even if they were open, they’d only need a little distraction.

“…but, Cas, you’re blind. You can’t be the one getting the clothes because you can’t see the clothes. You have to be the distraction.”

“Fine,” Cas conceded in an even more gravelly voice than usual. “How do I distract them?”

“Use your imagination.” It was coming up for 7:20am and Dean was getting anxious to get back on the road to head for Bobby’s, but there was no denying they needed clothes.

The two men climbed out of the Impala, now parked in a dodgy looking parking lot nestled behind a dry cleaners and a drug store. Cas used his mojo to unlock the back door for Dean and then headed around to the front. Dean tiptoed through the door and waited until he heard Cas’ mind enter the shop.

He could hear the mind of the laundress, tired but cheerful, and felt slightly guilty at stealing from her, but that quickly passed when he heard, through her, the tinkling of the bell as the door was pushed open. She dodged artfully around the tall machines to the front of the shop, to the register, and Dean heard her become instantly smitten with Cas. He smirked, and then listened to hers and Cas’ mind for indication that it was safe to move.

“Um, yes, hello. Can you help me?”

“Sure can, honey, what’s up?”

Dean navigated through the tall metallic jungle of machinery. A gap in the machine meant he could see Cas and the woman’s back as they spoke.

“Well, I’m blind. Um. What clothes am I wearing?”

Dean had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

“Um- you’re wearing suit pants and a grey t shirt and a trench coat.”

“Mhm, thank you. And, uh. What colour is the coat?”

“It’s… tan?”

Dean was nearly at the clean clothes, and to his delight, he saw piles upon piles of jeans, t-shirts, shirts, sweaters, pants, underwear -who dry cleans their underwear?- and practically every other possible article of clothing you could need. He slung the empty duffel bag off his shoulder and began stuffing it various pieces of clothing, making sure to grab nice-feeling pieces for Cas.

“Tan, that sounds nice. Can you describe it to me?”

“What? The colour tan?”

“Yes, please. I’ve never seen colours.”

Dean’s sides were nearly splitting at the seams from the suppressed laughter. Cas might be scary-powerful and smart with plans and strategies, but he wasn’t very good at talking to people. Who could blame him, really? He’d never had real experience in the real world until he was 27, and even then, he was only given the Dean-Winchester-Crash-Course in socializing. Even Dean had to admit he was probably the worst teacher Cas could have had, but they got by.

Duffel full and refusing to close, Dean threw one more glance to the laundress’ back and dropped a $20 bill on the floor. It wasn’t enough to cover the clothes, let alone the law suit when her customers realised she had lost their clothes, but it was the best he could do. He’d pay her back some day. She was still trying to explain to Cas, who had never seen colour, what tan was. With a final look around to ensure he hadn’t missed any gems, Dean quickly grabbed one last thing and slipped out the heavy back door of the dry cleaners, dumped the duffel in the car, and ran around to the front door to get Cas.

“Cas!” He called as he pushed the door open. The woman looked no less than relieved. “There y’are, buddy! C’mon, we gotta go. Ma’am I’m sorry if he’s been bothering you. He just wanders sometimes, and I’ve told him not to bother people about colours because I keep telling him you can’t explain them...” Cas elbowed him in the ribs, hard. “Okay.” He finished breathlessly.

They left the shop quickly and ran to the Impala, Dean in stitches and Cas flushed with embarrassment.  

They would be back at the motel by 7:40am, and on the road to Bobby’s by 8am at the latest, meaning they could reach there by 9pm if they drove in shifts without stopping too much. For a few sweet, fleeting moments, Dean was genuinely happy.

*** *** *** ***

Sam was clutching a gas-station coffee cup in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He looked worried but healthy, at least, healthier than Dean had seen him recently. He looked like he’d slept.

He called to Dean and Cas as they crossed the lot towards him, but Dean wasn’t yet close enough to hear his thoughts so he had to listen through Cas: “Do you want the good news first or the bad?”

“Bad!” Dean yelled in response.

They reached Sam who smoothed the newspaper out as best he could against the door to his room, with one hand still wrapped around the cup.

“The bad news,” he began, “is that we’re plastered across all of today’s papers. And they’re photographs, not drawings.” He showed Dean the picture, which looked like a frame from a security camera in the diner complete with a timestamp in the bottom-right corner. Sure enough he saw himself, his brother, and his friend, staring back at him. The headline printed above it in thick black letters sent ice down Dean’s back.

MASSACHUSETTS MURDERERS RECRUIT

Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak, responsible for the murder of at least eight individuals in the state of Massachusetts alone, have been sighted and confirmed in a diner in Ericson, Nebraska, with new mystery recruit.

He read the headline and the opening paragraph aloud to Cas and described the picture. It was clearly them, there was no doubt about that, which meant they needed to get to Bobby as soon as possible if they were to fall far enough off the grid to escape this.

“Am I wearing the coat?” Cas asked, suddenly.

“What?” Sam asked, looking confusedly at Cas.

“In the picture, am I wearing my coat?”

“No, you’re carrying it,” Dean replied, smiling slightly.

“Oh, thank God,” Cas replied, letting out a breath, “It would be shame if I had to get rid of it.”

Dean laughed, and Sam’s eyebrows shot up and he smiled.

Dean peeked into Sam’s thoughts to see what he thought of Cas. For some reason, he desperately wanted him to like him. All he could find in Sam’s head was amusement, a strange sense of belonging, and the underlying worry that he was now a wanted man. He suddenly remembered the new clothes in the back of the Impala.

“We should change,” he suggested, “just in case.” 8am, which was the latest Dean wanted to be leaving, creeped closer and closer. “Sammy, I think I got some clothes that’ll fit you, too.”

Cas opened a door for them and they all changed, leaving their other clothes in the room; no sense in keeping them, they reasoned.

Sam was now clad in jeans and a plaid shirt, and Dean decided he would always remember the purple dog shirt which somehow felt important. Cas was dressed in cargo pants, a blue shirt wore open over a green t shirt, and a dark red zip up jacket. He didn’t wear the coat, but Dean knew he was relieved that he didn’t have to throw it away. Dean, himself, wore a dark grey zip up jacket over a black t shirt and blue jeans. The most important thing was that the clothes were clean, warm, and they fit.

The three men climbed into the Impala at exactly 8am. Cas instantly clicked on the radio and Dean smiled instinctively as he turned the key and Baby purred to life. He turned around to face Sam who was sat behind Cas.

“What’s the good news?” he asked.

“What?”

“You said there was bad news and good news.”

“Oh, uh, I didn’t have any premonitions about being caught and since they normally only happen when I’m in danger, I figure that can only mean two things.”

“Either we won’t get caught…”

“Or my ability’s gone, yeah. Both of those are good to me.”

“Right,” Dean replied and turned back around. They had a thirteen hour drive, which should go ahead without a hitch according to Sam’s mojo. Dean felt happy… no, not happy. Hopeful. He knew he shouldn’t let himself, but he couldn’t help it when the optimism gripped him.

Cas had settled on a radio station and was leaning back with his eyes shut. Dean listened through Cas and felt the way the sounds resonated through his friend’s body and relaxed. He would drive for about 7 hours and Sam would drive the rest. They would be at Bobby’s by 9pm and hopefully with his help, they would disappear completely by morning.


	18. Sam POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys so I've been really shitty about this chapter and had to work some stuff out for it which took way longer than I planned, so I'm sorry!

The music drifted lazily out of the old speakers, brushing the leather of the seats and filling the car. Castiel seemed to be asleep, but Sam suspected he wasn’t. Dean looked totally engrossed, whether in driving or in something else, Sam didn’t know, but he felt free. The look on Dean’s face, even at the awkward angle Sam could see it from, wasn’t one of someone who was paying much attention to the outside world. Or more specifically, the innermost world there was. For the first time since learning about Dean’s ability, Sam felt as though he could really think.

He tested the waters first, recalling memories of their childhoods, of Dad, of anything that he thought might stir a reaction in Dean and nothing did. He shut his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cold window and let go of the restrictions he had set up in his mind.

He thought about Dean and Cas; about their abilities. They were good, they could help, but Sam? His ability was just an inconvenience. It didn’t always show him when something bad was going to happen, and even when it did, Sam hadn’t yet been able to stop anything he saw. He just had to watch it unfold. So far, he’d been made to witness nothing horrible, but it was only a matter of time. Dean and Cas were useful. They were strong enough to fight this battle. Sam felt utterly useless, like he was once again letting Dean down. Maybe he could improve his own ability, as Dean and Cas had theirs improved; but how would it be done? Dean had to lose his hearing to really hear thoughts, and Cas had to lose his sight to control what no one could see… what would Sam have to lose? Would he have to lose anything? He decided he would ask Dean about it when they stopped to use the bathroom, get gas, and switch drivers.

*** *** *** ***

Dean pulled into the courtyard of the gas station smoothly and was almost out of the car before it was switched off entirely. Cas was at the side of the Impala in seconds pumping the gas and Dean jogged over to the store. Sam unfolded himself out of the back seat, stretching his back as he limbered slowly to Castiel. The other man’s lips were moving softly, as if he were singing to himself. After a second, Sam realised he was counting and watched in disbelief as Cas managed to stop pumping the gas as the meter ticked over to $50.00 exactly. He replaced the pump in the holster and began walking quickly over to the store, gesturing to Sam to follow.

Dean was at the register already, paying for the gas and some snacks. Cas walked up to him and put a hand on his upper arm and Dean responded by pointing him in the direction of the bathroom. Sam watched in astonishment at how smoothly Dean and Castiel interacted. Like they knew each other inside-out. The Impala had only been parked for a maximum of three minutes and Dean and Cas were almost ready to leave. Sam was hit with a pang of sadness as he realised that this was the fast-paced lifestyle his brother and Cas had been living for the past four months. Dean approached him and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Better hurry, Sammy, we hit the road in two.”

A few seconds later, Cas emerged from the bathroom and left the store. Sam stood for a second, unmoving, before he snapped out of it and went to the bathroom quickly.

Back on the courtyard, the other two men were leaning against the Impala and chatting coolly as Sam approached. When he had almost reached them, Cas climbed into the back seat and Dean yanked open the passenger door.

“Wait, Dean, hold on,” Sam said and grabbed hold of Dean’s shoulder. Dean turned to him, his eyebrows raised and his head tilted forward slightly. He leaned on the door to close it again and looked at Sam, waiting for him to speak. His impatience was clear, but Sam wasn’t going to let it faze him. Cas was sat in the back seat but his door was still open so he could hear what was going on. Sam cleared his throat.

“I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think I’m any good to you guys as I am,” Dean began to protest, but Sam cut him off. “These guys are after us and we can’t stop them. I can’t always see what’s coming, and even when I do, I- I can’t stop it, Dean! I can’t let you down again, so I gotta ask, man. Will you help me get better? With my… ability?”

Sam had rehearsed the speech in his mind; what he would say, how he would say it, how he would frame it in his mind for Dean, everything. This wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. He was met with silence, both from his brother and from Castiel. The latter climbed out of the car slowly and slammed the door. The sound broke through the silence like a bullet through glass.

“What?” Dean asked quietly. Not to say he hadn’t heard, but to say he was giving Sam a chance to change what he had said. The younger brother considered it for a second, but then set his jaw, stood up straighter and repeated, slowly and purposefully:

“I want you to help me, Dean.”

What happened next surprised all three men. Dean was pushed back roughly so he hit the Impala and lost his balance. Sam was grabbed by the collar and pressed against the gas pumps, something digging into his back. He had nearly half a foot on Cas, but the shorter man still scared him as he invaded his personal space. Cas’ face was so close to his own that he could feel his hot breath as he yelled and could look nowhere but into his blue eyes, blind and seething.

“What is wrong with you?” he cried, almost mad with rage, “Dean and I risked our lives escaping that place, and have risked our lives every day since trying to stay just one step ahead! You got to live, Sam! You have a life and now you want to throw it away for some… some defect!?”

Dean had recovered and leapt in between Sam and Cas, pushing them apart violently. He took Cas by the shoulders and backed him up against the Impala.

“Cas, calm down!” he roared. In an instant, Cas was quiet. He didn’t resist Dean and just stood still, the shoulders of his jacket still bunched up in Dean’s fists. Sam, who had been shoved pretty hard against the gas pump, watched quietly and staring astonishingly as Dean released Castiel and smoothed down the jacket where he’d grabbed it. Throw his life away? Sam didn’t want to throw his life away; just to make his ability better.

Dean turned to face Sam. “Sam, there is no way in Heaven or in Hell that I’m letting you do it. Say, Cas, if you were going to make someone’s psychic mojo better, what would you do?”

“Take away their past,” Castiel replied.

“I was thinking the same thing. With no memories to get in the way, you got a HD view into the future. Is that what you want? To forget Jess, school, mom and dad, your kid…”

“Yeah, all right, I get it. But, Dean, why can’t you help me? I mean surely you learned some way of helping me make it better without taking away my- my memories?”

“No, Sam. And even if I had, I wouldn’t do it. I’m better than they are, and Cas is, too. Now get in the damn car.”

The finality in Dean’s voice ensured Sam was silent. The other two men climbed into the car, both into the back seat, and slammed the doors behind them. Sam sighed and stepped forward, pushing off the gas pump, when a hand shot out from behind him, through the gaps in the pump, and grabbed his sleeve. Though most of his view was obscured, he could see that it was a short woman with dark hair on the other side. He pulled against her but she held fast onto his arm.

“Who’s there?” Sam asked, trying to get a better view of her face.

“A friend,” she replied, before reaching out with her other hand to hand Sam a piece of paper. He studied it quickly, skimming his glance over the columns of text. When he looked up again, the girl was gone. He pocketed the scrap of paper and shrugged before climbing into the drivers’ seat of the Impala.

No one in the car spoke, and Sam drove quickly and smoothly, happy to be behind the wheel once again, if not for any other reason.

*** *** *** ***

With Dean’s guidance from the back seat, Sam had found Bobby’s place without a hitch, and pulled into the salvage yard some six hours after leaving the gas station. The journey had been silent and awkward, and now that it was over the three men seemed to breathe a unified sigh of relief. Before he’d even switched off the engine, Dean was out of the car and jogging to the front door. As Sam went to follow, he felt Cas’ hand on his shoulder.

“Sam,” he began gruffly, “I’m sorry that I yelled at you.”

“It’s all right, Castiel, don’t worry about it.”

Cas nodded and got out the car and Sam followed. The two men ambled over to Bobby’s door which was open and waiting for them, Dean having disappeared inside. Sam regarded the house oddly, the peeling paint and overgrown lawn inviting back memories that he hadn’t considered for years. He remembered playing in the scrap yard with Dean and throwing a ball around with Bobby, smiling at the memories. As his fingers brushed the peeling paint of the front door as he walked through it, a searing pain cut through his brain.

He was vaguely aware of his knees buckling and felt himself fall to the floor somewhere distant, but his concentration was solely on the images flicking in front of his eyes. He squeezed his eyelids tight to try and hide from them, or them from him, but it was in vain; he saw it all in sickeningly vivid high definition. It was like a broken movie reel, skipping and replaying random parts in what seemed like no particular order, but there was no denying what Sam was seeing. Bobby’s house ablaze, flames licking out through the windows and doors. He could smell the burning wood and paint, a nauseating smell, and could hear the creaking groans as the supporting walls of the building threatened to crumble. The night sky above the house was stained orange from the flames, and pieces of paper flew up, carried by heat and smoke. It seemed to last forever, like Sam was stuck in an instant replay and had no choice but to watch Bobby’s life go up in flames over and over and over-

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice cut through the image, severing its hold on Sam and it dissipated like the rising black smoke. His eyes flew open and it took a few seconds for them to focus on his brother’s face, a few inches above his own.

“Dean?” he could hear the break in his own voice, and tried to sit up. Dean’s green eyes were wide with fear and flicked, looking from one of Sam’s eyes to the other. They stared at each other in silence and it was understood; Dean had seen what Sam had seen and they couldn’t let it happen.

Eventually, Sam managed to convince Dean he could stand alone and stood up, if slightly unsteady on his feet. Dean coaxed him into the living room and he fell heavily into an old sofa, sending a smoke-like cloud of dust billowing up around him. Dean, Cas, and Bobby all stood above him. Dean looked worried and threw a glance at Bobby, who was stood staring at Sam with his arms folded, while Cas stood silently next to Dean. Sam stared at each of them individually.

“You want to tell me what the Hell’s going on here?” Bobby asked, his voice and accent exactly as Sam remembered it being.

“Yeah, hey Bobby,” he began, “It’s been a while.”

 

 


	19. Cas POV

Something about returning to a room he’d been in before comforted Castiel. Maybe it was the way the lines fell into place almost instantly and he could feel at ease straight away knowing where everything was. Maybe it was the sheer rarity of the situation; like finding a diamond in the rough, Castiel had found a place that was safe enough for him to return to it. Even if he never did return, he knew he would forever appreciate the feeling of safety he got upon entering Bobby’s house that day.

For about a second, at least. Behind him, Sam collapsed almost instantly upon entering the room. He heard the cry and sensed the fall and turned quickly, making the air form a cushion to save Sam from hurting himself on the hard-wood floor. Castiel was on his knees in an instant, his arms beneath Sam’s shoulders, keeping his head elevated. Memories rushed back to him in an instant and he was suddenly back in Perdition, inmates collapsing and choking on their own vomit as their bodies tried to cleanse themselves of the various drugs. He began to panic, shaking Sam and praying for a response as he had done with countless inmates before. He knew deep inside that Sam was having a premonition and not a reaction to drugs, but he was becoming hysterical and there was nothing he could do; he couldn’t convince his own mind that he was no longer in the facility and he could practically smell the sterile misery.

Hands clasped his shoulders and turned him around. Suddenly he was faced with the familiar contours of Dean’s face, and he calmed almost immediately. He still shook and he still found it hard to grasp onto reality, but he could feel Dean’s breath on his face, feel his fingers digging into his shoulders like strong and unwavering steel rods, and he knew that he was okay. He sensed Dean throw a quick glance at Sam and nodded as if to say it was okay, and in an instant, Dean was gone.

Except he wasn’t, and Castiel knew that. Dean wasn’t gone and Castiel wasn’t in Perdition and everything was okay. Well, as okay as it could be when he was wanted for multiple murders.

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds between Sam collapsing and Dean crying out a very broken and heart wrenching “Sammy!” and a few more for Sam to be draped across the sofa.

*** *** *** ***

“It’s been a while?” Bobby practically hissed at Sam in response, “Don’t give me that, boy, I ain’t seen you in years and the first thing you can say after you arrive at my house and collapse in my doorway is it’s been a while?”

“M’sorry, Bobby,” Sam mumbled, “What do you want me to say?”

“Well you could start by telling me what all that was about.” Bobby gestured in the direction of the front door with a vague swing of his arm. Dean sucked in a breath, so silent even Castiel almost missed it, and left the room with Castiel in tow. They ended up in Bobby’s kitchen, Dean leaning broodingly over the counter.

“Dean.” Castiel thought, as he so often did, in lieu of asking what was wrong. It was his way of letting Dean know he was there for him, that he would listen should Dean choose to speak. Dean grabbed a bottle off the counter and turned to lean against it so he was facing Castiel.

“He had a vision.”

“A premonition, yes, I thought so.” He kept his mind clear of anything other than what he was saying; this was one of those times where Dean had to explain things for himself and not hear all of the questions buzzing around Castiel’s skull, though there were many.

“Bobby’s house burning, that’s what it was about.” Dean intoned, completely emotionless save for a crack in his voice on the last word. Castiel needn’t answer, just let his mind fill with the sorrow and worry that he knew Dean felt, and with the reassurance that everything would be okay. As he did so, he considered Dean’s posture. He had one hand placed on the countertop behind him and was leaning on the edge of the surface by the small of his back. He was clutching the beer bottle in the other hand and his head was bowed. Even Castiel could see the defeat and exhaustion in his posture.

“You should have seen it, Cas. The fire and the smoke. I could smell it, through Sam’s vision. It was choking… it was just like…” his voice trailed off leaving nothing but broken silence. Castiel thought about the last time Dean had been in close proximity with fire and knew that memories of his mother were flooding back to him. The shorter man took a step forward and put a hand over Dean’s that clutched the bottle tightly. He could smell the bitterness of the liquor. He guided Dean’s hand to put the bottle back on the counter top and then released his hand, but he didn’t step back. He tried to comfort Dean, to think of happy thoughts and memories, but at best he was summoning mediocre scenes of indifference. The sound of footfalls approached from the living room and he stepped back, the intimacy broken.

Bobby and Sam loitered in the doorway of the kitchen and just like that, Dean wasn’t in pieces anymore. Gone were the cracks that Castiel saw but everyone else seemed blind to; the voice that gave out to sobs. He wondered why Dean put up this façade, plastered on this smile.

“So, Sam tells me you guys are looking to disappear, huh?”

So, Sam hadn’t told Bobby about his ability, then.

“Yep,” Dean answered, a stark contrast to the way he’d been only seconds prior, “You know anyone?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Bobby replied, “You need to see a fella named Frank Devreaux.”

“Who’s he?” Sam asked, walking over to join Dean and Castiel on the other side of the room.

“He’s a jackass and a lunatic, but he owes me one.” Bobby replied, elaborating no further as he turned away and walked back into the living room. He re-emerged a few seconds later and handed something to Dean, which Dean stared at for a moment before stuffing it into his back pocket. He glanced at Castiel, obviously sensing his confusion, before turning back to Bobby.

“And this Frank,” he began, “you’re sure he can help?”

“I’m sure he can, I ain’t sure he will.”

*** *** *** ***

They had left Bobby’s almost immediately and reached Frank’s small, shabby looking house at around 4am. After a lengthy battle with Dean, they decided to wait until morning to go and see him and parked up the car a few hundred feet down the road in a layby.

Sleeping in the Impala wasn’t so bad. They’d done it several times over the past few months, when they didn’t have any cash or when Dean just got too tired to keep his eyes open, and Castiel had long since grown used to it. Sam slept sprawled across the back seat, Dean with his head on his hand against the drivers’ side window, and Castiel with his head against the cool glass of his own window. He enjoyed the small space, the lines were only a few feet away from him in all directions and there was nowhere for anyone to hide.

Sleep didn’t come easy to him that night; she danced and dodged, almost close enough to touch but always just out of reach. He listened to the Winchesters’ breathing, their twin soft snores, and envied their peace. The breaths were long and slow and Castiel forced his own to keep time with them in a vain attempt to calm himself enough to sleep, but to no avail.

The seconds turned into minutes, turned into hours, and pretty soon, Dean stirred beside him. Castiel had been sat still in an almost unchanging environment for long enough to create a perfect image of what was around him. He had enough detail to see when Dean blinked and to make out almost every individual hair on his head. The other man blinked a few times as he woke, and his hair was dishevelled and disorderly despite it being short. He had creases on his cheek from where he’d been leaning on his sleeve and Castiel smiled.

“Mornin’, Cas,” he said groggily, sitting up straighter and looking over at Castiel, “Did you sleep?”

Castiel didn’t answer, he didn’t have to. He just allowed his exhaustion to swirl around his mind and touch his thoughts, and knew Dean would know. So instead, he asked him what time it was.

“Um… 8:17.” Dean replied, extending an arm over the back of the seat to hit Sam’s knee and wake him up. The younger brother jumped as he woke, hitting his head on the window, and releasing a startled “What the Hell?”

“Rise n’ shine, Sammy!” Dean yelled and clicked on the radio. Heat of the Moment began blaring out of the speakers and Castiel remembered the last time he’d heard that song. It had been morning then, too, and he had been sharing a bed with Dean. Heat rose to his cheeks and quickly turned his mind to other things. If Dean noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“I guess we better go see if Frank’s awake, huh?” Sam suggested, and the three of them were yanked back to face the reality of the situation. They climbed out of the Impala and began the short walk down the road to Frank’s house, praying that he would help.

 

 


	20. Dean POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a massive thank you to everyone who's read, left kudos, commented, and bookmarked, and to all the people who stuck with me even when I was shitty at updating on time - I love you all!  
> every time my phone vibrates with an email to tell me someone left kudos or commented, I can't help but smile, and I was actually in tears with some of the nice things people have been leaving in the comments. Literally, I can't thank any of you enough <3

Dean couldn’t see any lights or indeed any signs of life from Frank’s home, but the door swung open when Dean knocked, so the three of them ducked into the house anyway.

The morning sunlight that shone brilliantly outside seemed to have trouble finding its way into Frank’s house, and so the room they entered was dark as Dean expected it would look at midnight.

“Frank?” Sam called, looking around him anxiously, “Frank, anybody here? Hello? Anybody home?”

Dean reached out with his mind, trying to find if Frank was in the house. He could hear the buzzing of his thoughts, but couldn’t pinpoint where he was. Suddenly, the room was bathed with light. Dean swung around and saw a man sitting in a chair, shotgun in hand. Behind him were monitors, more than Dean had ever seen in one place, all tuned into different news channels. Dean’s own face stared back at him in at least four of them and his blood ran cold. He stared back down at Frank and gulped. Frank looked to be in his mid-fifties and wore thick-rimmed glasses. He cocked the gun.

“Let me guess. You’re innocent,” he smiled. Dean could only hear him through Sam and Cas.

“Uh, Bobby sent us,” Sam stammered, eyeing the weapon with pure fear.

Frank stood up quickly, holding the weapon in a much more frightening way, pointing it directly at Sam’s head. Dean stepped in front of him quickly, hands flying up in surrender. Cas’ thoughts turned protective and Dean could feel the anger rolling off him in thick waves. He prayed for him to stay calm, to keep his ability secret.

“Or not. Who?”

“He said you could help,” Sam said from behind Dean, “said you owed him.”

Frank sighed and lowered his weapon, walking back over to the monitors.

“I always knew letting Bobby Singer help me out would come back and bite me in the ass, I just never guessed the bite would be in the form of three murderers.”

Dean looked between Frank and the monitors alarmingly, hearing the words a second later than they were said and feeling Sam and Cas’ fear at them. Frank only followed his gaze and regarded the monitor with disinterest.

Without going into too much detail, the three of them started describing to Frank that the government were after them and that they needed to hide. They didn’t mention Dean’s deafness, nor did they point out that Cas was blind, and they certainly said nothing about their abilities. As Sam explained something in far more detail than was necessary, Dean turned his attention to Cas.

His overlaying thoughts were just following the conversation, a habit he’d picked up purely for Dean’s benefit. Underneath that was the layout of the room, which was quickly falling more and more into place; lines joining up with one another, sections moving back or forward as Cas picked up on the depth of objects. It was almost therapeutic for Dean to watch. Deeper still into Cas’ thoughts, Dean found the worry and distrust the other man felt about Frank, and the anger that still burned about him holding a gun at the Winchesters. Dean smiled at Cas’ protectiveness and took a step closer to him, laying a hand on his arm. The corners of Cas’ mouth twitched almost into a smile in response, and his worry ebbed away slightly.

When they had finished explaining, the room was silent. Eventually, Frank spoke.

“You know, I hear Cuba’s nice this time of year.”

Anger bubbled up inside Dean. “Cuba? Bobby said you could help, that doesn’t help! I could have thought of that! We got a couple asses to kick, so we just need you to get us more hidden, but still in the game.”

Frank sighed, falling into a chair and clicking on some classical music. Dean felt Cas feel a moment of happiness at the sound of it.

“Okay, so. No plastic, just cash,” Dean felt a slight pang of sadness at having to throw his credit card away, he’d only had it five minutes, “and change your phones on a very frequent non-schedule schedule, you understand? And for Gods’ sake, try to avoid the some 200million cameras the government has access to, ‘kay? If a place even looks like it can afford security… Now. Laptops, you got one?” He looked first at Cas who shook his head and then Dean who did the same. When he looked at Sam, he was met with a bowed head and an uncomfortable shuffling of feet. He produced a laptop from somewhere and handed to Sam. “Destroy your one. And you owe me five grand, cash.”

He jumped to his feet and grabbed Dean by the jacket, shoving him roughly against the wall. Dean was about to fight back when he realised Frank’s intentions.

“Let’s Blue Steel you up some new I.D.” He took a picture of Dean, the light blinding, and then one of Cas and one of Sam.

“You’re Mr Smith,” he said to Dean. “And you two are… Mr Jones and Mr Taylor.”

In a few minutes he had I.Ds printed and a whole host of legitimate looking documents. He handed them all to Dean.

“Tell Bobby Singer we’re even,” he said as he shoved them all out of the front door and slammed it behind them.

“What a dick,” Dean mumbled, hopping off the porch. Cas laughed and Dean remembered with a start that that was the first thing he’d even said about him, too.

_He huddled in the corner of the Rec. Room of the facility; as far as he was concerned everyone in this room was keeping him from Sammy, and so he ignored all of them fiercely, reinforcing his hatred with glares and glowers at anyone who came near. He’d been there three years now, and his ‘treatment’ was well underway: drug therapy to try and enhance his ability. He hadn’t been deafened yet at this point._  
 _Someone approached him, Dean could feel the anxiety rolling off him and couldn’t help the pang of sympathy he felt for him. The boy was about his age and clutching tightly onto a colourful box as if he were alone in the ocean and it was keeping him afloat. Dean made his glare as hateful as possible, contorting his youthful, 16 year old face into something ugly, but the boy didn’t notice. Just stepped even closer and sat down on the floor in front of Dean’s chair. He began unpacking the board game, which Dean now saw was called ‘Sorry’, lining up the pawns precisely._  
 _"W_ _hat are you doing?” Dean asked, astonished at how hoarse his voice sounded, as a result of a combination of screaming and vomiting from the drug they’d tried a couple of days ago._  
 _“Do you want to play?” The boy asked in lieu of answering. Dean considered; on one hand, he didn’t want to let himself be happy in this place since he felt as though that was some kind of betrayal to Sam and his Dad, but on the other, loneliness ate away at him day after day and maybe this boy wouldn’t be so bad. He certainly didn’t seem it as he straightened out the cards he’d just placed on the board._  
 _“That’s not where they go,” Dean said, sliding off his chair so sit across from the boy, the board dividing them._  
 _“Oh, um… Could you…?” He glanced up at Dean for a second and Dean realised with a start that the boy was blind, his eyes just a little too out of focus – even for one of the drug-induced trancelike subjects._  
 _“Oh! Yeah, sure,” Dean stammered, lining up the cars in the dotted rectangle that was allocated to them. He did the same with the pawns. “So why are you playin’ board games?” he asked, tapping the edge of the already-in-line deck of cards as he did so, “Aren’t you a little old?”_  
 _“I’m 17!” The boy announced proudly, jabbing himself in the chest hard as if there might be some confusion as to which “I” he was referring to. Dean regarded him strangely before shrugging and announcing that he would play as red and green and the other boy could be blue and yellow._  
 _They only got a few moves into the game before conversation took over and the pawns were all but forgotten._  
 _“I’m Castiel, by the way.”_  
 _“Hey, Cas. I’m Dean.”_  
 _“It’s not Cas. It’s Castiel.”_  
 _"Yeah, okay. I’m gonna call you Cas. So what’re you in for, Cas?”  
_ _They spoke for a couple of hours about anything and everything; their abilities, their treatment, their past, their families (or lack thereof), how the facility found them, their favourite songs, what they wanted to be when they grew up (Dean wanted to be a rock star, Cas wanted to be an astronaut and touch the skies), and everything in between. It didn’t take Dean long to figure out that Cas still possessed the mind of quite a young child, probably as a result of being found so young and not having any decent adult influences. He’d been in the facility ten years already, and his choice of role-model was scientist, guard, or drugged-up test subjects. Dean didn’t blame him for wanting to remain a kid._

_Upon the bell ringing to signify they had to return to their rooms, Dean and Cas parted ways, each heading to their respective wards. Dean shuffled down the stark, bare corridor with disdain when he was pushed from behind._  
 _“Come on, Winchester. You can move faster than that. Making friends with Castiel, huh? That kid’s all kinds of crazy.”_  
 _The speaker was none other than Uriel; one of the guards on Dean’s wing who just loved to taunt him for no apparent reason. Dean would never admit that the arrogance he showed towards Uriel masked the fear the guard induced in him._  
 _“Nah, I’m not friends with him. What a dick.”  
_ _Uriel smirked before pushing Dean along roughly._

Sam insisted on driving, so Dean rode shotgun as they discussed where to go next. They all agreed the best direction was west, simply because there was more America that way and they were less likely to run out.

“Operation: Find Dad. That’s what we’re working on, right?” Sam asked from the drivers’ seat. Dean rolled his eyes.

“You’re such a dork. But, yeah, Operation: Find Dad. Also, Operation: Don’t Get Found By The Government. Oh! And Operation: Don’t Get Ourselves Or Anyone Else Killed!” Dean replied, growing slightly more hysterical with every word. Cas directed calming thoughts his way, and he was back to normal in a matter of seconds. It was scary how much they relied on one another by this point.

“Okay. Where to?”

“You could try Bobby again, see if he feels like talking about John yet,” Cas suggested from the back seat, leaning forward to rest his head on his forearms on the back of the seat beside Dean. Sam and Dean glanced at each other and Sam shrugged.

“It’s the best plan we’ve got,” he said, but he couldn’t hide the worry that suddenly flooded his mind at remembering the vision about Bobby’s house in flames. Dean’s mind was made up. They had to go to Bobby’s, to make sure the house wasn’t in ashes if nothing else.

 

 


	21. Sam POV

He turned into Bobby’s driveway flooded with relief; the house wasn’t burning.

The sun was beginning its slow descent towards the western horizon and the contorted shadows cast by the mangled metal in the scrapyard were dancing and taunting, but Sam couldn’t care less. He swung the Impala around wildly and brought it to a stop directly in front of the steps leading up to Bobby’s porch, much to Dean’s annoyance (“Sam, if you scratch Baby, I will kick your ass seven shades of Sunday”), and bounded up the steps to pound on the front door wildly. Bobby opened it a few seconds later, just as Dean and Cas climbed out of the car. Sam stared at him for a few seconds before his face split into a grin and he turned around to see Dean smiling, too. Cas was expressionless but his stance was relaxed and Sam took that to mean he was relieved, too.

The three of them piled into the house and made themselves comfortable in the living room. Bobby joined them after a few minutes with four bottles of beer in hand. He handed them out and flopped onto a sofa.

“I take it Frank helped you,” he said, looking at them all before taking a swig of his drink. Sam could see a drop of condensation slide down the frosty looking bottle. No one answered, “Well you ain’t dead, so he must have.”

Dean cleared his throat from across the room, where he was sharing a sofa with Cas. Sam looked over at him and had a pretty good idea of what he was going to say. He hadn't been happy that Sam hadn’t told Bobby about his ability, but what was he supposed to have done? _“Hey, Bobby, I haven’t seen you in years and the first time I do, I collapse in your front door and have a vision of your house burning down. Oh, also, I don’t know how or even if I can help stop it, so uh, don’t die, eh?”_ Yeah, he didn’t think so. Dean glared at him before turning to Bobby.

“Uh, Bobby? I think Sam has something to tell you,” he said, turning to look at Sam imploringly part-way through the sentence.

Sam looked at Bobby who stared at him, waiting. He cleared his throat once. Twice.

“Spit it out, boy!”

“All right! I, uh, I have these nightmares, where I see bad stuff happen… before it happens.”

His heart was in his throat as he stared down at his hands in his lap. Telling Dean hadn’t been so bad because as much as his ‘ability’ made him feel like a freak and an outcast, Dean had an ability, too. And Castiel. They got it. What if Bobby didn’t? What if Bobby, who had been like a father to him for years, long since his own ceased to do so, thought he was some kind of monster? Yeah, he was fine with Dean and Castiel, but Sam was the one who deserted the family; who always fought with John; who was responsible for getting Dean taken away when they were kids. He wouldn’t blame Bobby for hating him.

“So, what? You’re some kind of a psychic?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I’m not exactly in charge of it, but-“

“So what’d you see? I assume that’s what happened the other day when you had a seizure in my hallway.”

“The, uh, the house was burning. This house. It was on fire.”

Bobby was silent. The entire room was silent. Hell, Sam felt like even the world beyond these four walls had fallen silent. Sam caught Dean’s gaze and looked away, suddenly remembering that his brother could hear his every thought. After what felt like an eternity, Bobby finally spoke.

“Don’t suppose that vision of yours came with a manual on how not to burn my house down, did it?”

Sam let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding in a kind of burst of laughter, only not so genuine and almost mocking in nature.

“’Fraid not,” he mumbled, almost smiling.

And that was that. There was no fight, no anger; Bobby hadn’t kicked him out of house, spitting at him and calling him a freak. Dean was beaming at him and nodding slightly, and even Cas offered him a small smile and a nod. Sam felt a weight lift off his shoulders and allowed himself to sit back in the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him and slumping into the old, soft cushions. He rested his beer on his knee.

They stayed at Bobby’s that night, talking light-heartedly and laughing, the worried of the world temporarily forgotten.

*** *** *** ***

Sam padded into the kitchen, dragging a hand down his face to try and diminish the sleepiness that still clung to him. Dean was leaning against the kitchen bench beside the cooker, manning a spitting frying pan and talking to Cas. Well, yelling at Cas.

“… Look, I’m sorry, but that’s no excuse. I mean, what’s wrong with you? Never?”

Cas scowled at him.

“Cas, man, that is not okay. It’s… It’s embarrassing.”

Cas stared at him for a second longer and then turned away to lean against the opposite counter. Dean threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Very funny, Cas,” he mumbled, grabbing a knife to poke at the bacon in the pan. When he turned back around he spotted Sam leaning against the door frame. “Sammy! Will you please tell Cas it’s not okay?”

“I have literally no idea what you guys are talking about. Cas wasn’t talking out loud,” Sam replied, walking over to the fridge.

“My apologies,” Cas interjected from the opposite side of the room, “sometimes I forget. Dean’s the only person I’ve had to talk to for years, and I never actually had to talk, so…”

Dean sighed dramatically and began dishing the bacon up onto two plates which already held eggs and bread. As he handed one of the plates to Castiel, he spoke to Sam.

“Cas has never seen Star Wars,” he offered in way of an explanation.

“I grew up in an orphanage which I left when I was seven, Dean, and Perdition wasn’t exactly well stocked in Sci-Fi movies - you know that. If it’s so good, how come you never showed it to me after we escaped?”

Sam left them to their arguing and decided to go and find a phone from which he could call Jess. He hadn’t spoken to her in days and wanted nothing more than to hold her. Seeing as this wasn’t an option, he would settle for hearing her voice; a voice that could end wars and calm madmen.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Baby,” he said softly, as if she would hang up if he spoke to sharply. Like she would realise just from hearing his voice what he had long since known: that he was a monster and she deserved someone much better.

“Sam! How are you?”

“I’m good, I guess, how are you?”

“We’re fine,” she replied quickly, and Sam could practically see her waving a dismissing hand at the question, ever utterly selfless, “what happened?”

Sam explained everything that had happened since they last spoke; the shooting at the diner, the news reports, Frank. She listened intently to his story, interrupting only to ask a question here and there. When Sam noticed Dean hovering in his peripheral vision, his heart twinged and they began their lengthy goodbyes: Dean Jr misses you. Be safe. I love you. I love you, too. Bye. Bye, Baby.

Sam stood up slowly after hanging up, the pain of missing Jess filling his muscles and his joints, making moving near impossible; God’s way of telling Sam he was supposed to be with Jess, that it was where he belonged. Eventually, though, he stood and began walking into the kitchen where he could hear Bobby and Cas talking. He patted Dean on the shoulder as he passed him, but his brother didn’t respond. Sam turned around to face him, the question barely framed in his mind when he noticed Dean staring at the chair at Bobby’s desk, where Sam had been sitting moments earlier. He took a step toward Dean. The other man mumbled something quietly.

“What? Dean, what’s wro-“

“Dean Junior?”

Sam stopped, suddenly realising that Dean had heard in his thoughts everything that Jess had said over the phone (and that it would take a lot longer than he thought to get used to Dean’s ability). He stared at his brother’s unreadable expression, apology already forming at the back of his mind, when Dean’s face split into a wide grin and a deep laugh escaped from his lips. He pulled Sam into a deep hug, encasing his younger brother in his arms, before pushing him away to hold him at arm’s length. Tears clouded his green eyes and Sam couldn’t help smiling, too. When Dean left him to return to the kitchen, it was with a beam etched across his face.

Smiling, Sam leaned back against the desk and shoved his hands into his pockets, laughing quietly. As he did so, his fingers brushed against a crumpled piece of paper. He examined it, smoothing out the creases as he began to read the text. The memories flashed in front of his eyes, the dark haired girl in the gas station who’d called herself a friend. He felt his eyes widen as he read the article on the paper. Words like “genetic mutations”, “supernatural abilities”, and "can be nourished and improved" jumped out at him with alarming ferocity, demanding to be noticed.

He swallowed thickly and glanced towards the kitchen. Dean’s laugh drifted through the doorway and if he was paying attention to Sam’s thoughts, he didn’t show it.

Sam drank up the words in the article as he read and re-read it. Whoever the girl was, she knew about Sam. And she wanted to help. 


	22. Cas POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mightn't be able to update for this week because it's GISHWHES, but I'll do my best. if I can, enjoy! If not, I'll upload the next chapter as soon as I can :)
> 
> Enjoy this chapter c:

Castiel’s body ached and his mind was slow, running on only a couple of hours of uncomfortable sleep. He hadn’t slept in a room alone since Perdition, but since Bobby had a house much too big for him, he’d assigned a room each to Dean, Sam, and Castiel. Neither, Dean nor himself, had said anything about the arrangement, but Castiel had found himself lying for hours on the small bed, listening to the deafening silence and waiting for sleep to claim him. Which it didn’t. Without being able to hear Dean’s steady breathing, Castiel’s body refused to acknowledge that it was safe, and the room felt frighteningly Perdition-like.

Some hours later, he’d heard a slight knock on the door and a whisper. It took him a fraction of a second to recognise Dean’s shape in the doorway and his voice in the night. He was calmed instantly.

“Can’t sleep, huh?” Dean asked, not needing to check if Castiel was asleep, for he could tell by his thoughts that he wasn’t, despite his exhaustion. “Yeah, me either. I guess I’m just used to you being there, you know?”

Castiel didn’t frame a specific thought in response, just let his mind run through its sluggish exhaustion, knowing it would be answer enough. He heard Dean shift in the doorway, and without saying anything, or even thinking much about it, he moved over in the single bed, pressing his body up against the cold wall to make enough room. Dean padded across the room and slid between the sheets in seconds, his cold body sapping the warmth that Castiel’s body had created. Castiel realised idly that they were both wearing nothing but boxers and were in such close proximity that their bodies touched almost from head to toe, but he was far too tired to think much about it or what it might mean, and found himself drifting off almost instantly. He noticed distantly that Dean’s hand had found his beneath the covers and that their fingers had somehow become interlaced, but he was far too deep into that greyish area between sleep and wakefulness to pay it much thought. Within seconds he was sleeping deeply.

Only to wake a couple of hours later, his muscles screaming with the need to stretch and move; the single bed Bobby had given to Castiel for the night was too small for one six foot man, let alone two. Dean was still fast asleep on his back beside him, one arm thrown over the edge of the bed and the other shielding his eyes from offending light. Castiel actively ignored the aches he felt in every part of his body and concentrated instead on Dean. The lines that made up his face, his neck, his shoulders, and the top half of his chest. He committed each contour and curve to memory as he listened to the other man’s breathing. The breaths left Dean’s slightly parted lips slowly, barely disturbing the air there, but doing so just enough for Castiel to sense it, and once his attention had been drawn to Dean’s lips, he couldn’t focus it elsewhere.

He could kiss those lips. Now. While Dean slept. He was pretty sure he understood the basics of it, he’d been around other couples as they kissed and he knew how the air moved between their lips; how it danced and dodged as their lips did. Dean wouldn’t have to know. Was it acceptable? To kiss someone as they slept? Castiel had learned a lot about proper social interaction since leaving Perdition, but Dean had never taught him about things like this.

Before he knew it, he found himself leaning forward, supported by his elbow, his lips hovering just above Dean’s own. So close he could feel the warm air of Dean’s exhales. His eyelids fluttered shut, though he didn’t know why. It just seemed appropriate to kiss with his eyes closed – as they were when he dreamt, and smelled something delicious, and allowed himself to sit back and slowly draw up his surroundings, and listened to music. All his favourite things occurred when his eyes were closed, it only seemed fit that this did, too. He hovered there for a moment, too scared to close the gap that now lay between them, to ruin the perfection of this moment, when suddenly Dean’s lips were on his. At some point, the other man had woken up, seen what Castiel was doing, and taken the opportunity that he couldn’t. Dean’s lips were soft and moved just right and Castiel suddenly understood why it was people did this; in that instant, in the dancing of Dean’s lips on his own and in the short, ragged breaths he took, he felt completely and utterly safe. One of Dean’s hands had found its way to the back of Castiel’s neck, long fingers playing with the curls at the nape, and one hand came up to cup Castiel’s cheek, thumb lightly skimming across his cheekbone as his lips continued to rain feathered kisses on Castiel’s. After a few minutes, Castiel pulled away and laid a hand on Dean’s cheek. He could feel the morning stubble and the warmth that radiated from his cheeks, which would no doubt be flushed, knowing Dean. He felt Dean’s smile beneath his palm.

“Mornin’, Cas,” he breathed, sleep making his voice low and hoarse. The greeting was the exact same one he had used the morning before, but it felt so different to Castiel. Like it held new meaning. Or maybe the meaning had been there all along and Castiel had just failed to see it. He let his mind blossom with happiness, like a rose opening up and in its petals holding every good thing on Earth. Dean laughed quietly and breathily before dropping another light, chaste kiss on Castiel’s lips and sitting up. “I want bacon. Do you want bacon?”

*** *** *** ***

“Please, Bobby. Just… tell us when you last saw him,” Sam pleaded. Dean had already tried his hand in trying to get Bobby to talk about John, and Castiel felt like it wasn’t his place, so now it fell to Sam to try and coax some information from the older man.

“You know what? Fine. If you wanna know so bad, I’ll tell you,” Bobby replied, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He walked across the room and then back again as he spoke, pacing lazily across the wooden floor. “Last I seen your Dad was just after Sam left for college. He kept calling me not making any sense, so I tracked the GPS on his phone and went to find him, to see if he was all right-“

“Wait, you tracked his phone?” Dean asked.

“Yes, now will you shut up? D’you wanna hear the story or not? Idjit. So anyway, I found him in some ditch in Arizona, mumbling something about your mom and drunk half to death. I brought him back here, which was easier than you'd think since he slept the entire way, and made him stay a couple days while he sobered up, and then took him back to the town he left his car in. He promised he’d call but you Winchesters aren’t fond of staying in touch, apparently,” Dean and Sam both looked at their feet uncomfortably, “When he didn’t call, I got worried, tried to call him, but his phone was disconnected. About a year later I got a call from the Meridian Police Department saying your old man was arrested for DUI and assault.”

“And?” Dean asked.

“And what?”

“You went to get him, right?” Sam spoke this time.

“No, I didn’t. I was mad at him! I wish I had because when I calmed down enough to go get him, a few months later, they said he was in the Central Mississippi Correctional Facility. I’m sorry, boys. That was three years ago, so he should still have another two left in there.”

Castiel could tell Dean was conflicted; on the one hand, he wanted to be angry at Bobby for letting their father fall off the wagon and then go to jail, but on the other, who could blame Bobby? John was a drunk who didn’t listen to anybody, didn’t even listen to his own kids when they complained that they were hungry. No one could have helped him, really. No one except Mary, and the angels had claimed her a long time ago.

A Silence filled the room, the kind of Silence that warrants a capital letter because it’s more than just an absence of sound; it’s a force. The Silence seeped into every crevice in the room, between every page in every book, filling it from floor to ceiling until it was pressing against the doors and windows, trying to get out. Castiel felt himself sinking back against the Silence, trying to make himself dissolve into the wall.

Eventually, Dean spoke. As he did so, he crossed the room to stand beside Castiel, who leaned against the wall to try and relieve the pressure on his aching muscles.

“So, Operation: Find Dad?” he asked grimly, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“I gotta get back to Jess, Dean. I promised I wouldn’t be gone long and I gotta see her.”

“Look, I’m sorry, Sammy, but you’re wanted for murder. You do realise that by going back there you’re putting her and the baby in danger? Right? Do you want that kind of blood on your hands? I know these people, Sam, and they will not hold back from Jess and the kid if that’s what it takes. I’m sorry.”

Sam sighed, dropping his head and scuffing at the ground with his feet. He knew Dean was right and Castiel’s heart went out to him. He couldn’t imagine how Sam felt, being away from the person he loved most, but he imagined it was something like how Castiel felt when he had nightmares in which Dean was taken or lost or hurt. If it was, he had to help. His mind was made up.

“We have to get Sam home, Dean,” he thought, framing each word deliberately and with purpose and finality. Dean had to know that this wasn’t anything less than top priority. Beside him, the older Winchester sighed and nodded his head slightly, just enough that Castiel could feel the air move. One way or another, they would make sure Sam, Jess, and the baby, were together and safe.

 


	23. Dean POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a poop who forgot to update i am so sorry

How could they get Sam home?

Bobby had called a friend of his in Mississippi who had gone to the prison to check that John was still there, and after reporting that he was, everyone was happy enough to leave him there a while longer. It had been unanimously agreed between the four men that John was a battle for another day and that the focus now was make it safe for Sam to return home – whatever it took.

Cas’ lips had been perfect. Perfectly plump and soft, despite looking chapped. Dean shook his head and concentrated on the TV screen in front of him. If they were going to get Sam home safely, they would have to get Hell off their heels, and the only way to do that was to wait until something else happened; in the media, in Sam’s visions, anything. Right now, all they could do was wait. So Dean watched a game on TV whilst Sam sat beside him doing something on the new laptop Frank had given him. Cas was napping upstairs, trying to catch up on sleep after one night of none at all, and one of only a couple hours.

More than anything, Dean wanted to go up and join him, to lie beside him in the bed and let his troubles melt away, but Cas needed the sleep. He sat with him as he drifted off, knowing the sound of his breathing would help him find sleep (just as Cas’ presence did for him), but forced himself to leave the room as soon as the other man had fallen deep enough into a dreamless sleep.

The kiss played on his mind. He didn’t know why he’d done it, but waking up with Cas’ lips a few inches above his own, their exhales mingling and their inhales stolen from one another, Cas’ eyes closed gently in a moment of pure peace; he’d looked too beautiful. Too perfect for Dean to resist and so he hadn’t. He’d only kissed a few people before, some girls in some of the schools he’d attended whenever they’d stayed in a town long enough to go to school. But those kisses didn’t count. They were rough and meaningless and sloppy, done only because it was what was expected. No, this had been different. This was tenderness and love, some kind of love, and comfort and home all rolled into one and Dean had felt safer with his lips pressed against Cas’ than he had since Mary’s kiss graced his forehead and she’d muttered sweetly that angels were watching over him. He’d never believed those words, never let himself believe, but when Cas’ lips had danced with his, it suddenly made all the sense in the world.

“Dean?”

Sam’s voice tore through his mind and his memories and he felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He turned a little too quickly to face his brother, beer sloshing over the edge of the bottle as he did so and soaking through his jeans. He cursed and jumped up while growling an answer out to Sam.

“What?”

Sam regarded him strangely as his brother rubbed the beer on his jeans in a vain attempt to get it off and ducked his head to try and hide the blush that just wouldn’t leave before turning the laptop so Dean could see the screen. What was staring back at him immediately caught his eye.

The picture on the screen was fuzzy, and it skipped slightly, almost dreamlike, but there was no denying what it showed. Anna was in a convenience store, running her fingertips lightly over the items on the shelves as she drifted down the aisles. Her head was tilted slightly as she listened to voices only she could hear and then she stopped dead. She lifted her head, eyes staring directly into the camera that was filming her before she smiled and mouthed four words. The words sent ice down Dean’s back and warranted a sharp gasp from Sam.

“Sioux Falls, South Dakota.”

Dean’s mind went into overdrive.

“What is that? When was it?” He asked, trying to force his heart rate down and stay focused and avoid the hysterics that always, without fail, followed closely behind anything to do with his time in Perdition. The only person who could talk him down was upstairs, sleeping soundly, unaware that Dean’s world was coming crashing down around him.

“It’s a security camera in a gas station in Idaho. It’s a live feed so this only happened a couple of minutes ago, max. Dean, you need to calm down. It’s a nineteen hour drive between there and here. Dean!” Sam had put the laptop down on the sofa cushion beside him and stood up to grab Dean’s shoulders. He stooped so that he could look directly into his brother’s eyes and repeated his name furiously in his mind in a kind of mantra: _Dean. Calm down. Dean. Calm down._ Despite the calming nature of the words, Dean could feel Sam’s panic on top of his own, and his brother’s efforts were fruitless in trying to get him to stop breathing so erratically or collapsing now that it seemed his knees didn’t have the strength to hold him up. He tried to focus on Sam’s eyes, to pull himself out of the past, but all he could see were memories of Perdition playing over and over again, his screams and Alistair’s voice ringing in his mind as the last thing he’d ever heard. He needed Cas. He needed Cas. Cas could help. He needed Cas.

Suddenly, Sam was pushed out of the way, and Dean began to collapse without his brother holding him up. He fell into a cushion of air, his head only a few inches from colliding with the coffee table, and stared into the oceans. The blue of Cas’ eyes stared back at him, and he was surrounded on all sides with calm and reassurance as Cas forced the thoughts upon him. Slowly, his breathing returned to a healthy pace and his heartbeat slowed. Cas had a hand behind Dean’s head, supporting it, and one beneath his shoulders as he kneeled beside him. His hair was dishevelled and he wore nothing but boxer shorts and a t-shirt, telling Dean he had only just woken up from his nap.

Eventually, Dean calmed enough to sit on the sofa, with Sam beside him as Cas went to get dressed. Bobby hovered in the doorway, wanting to see what all the commotion was about. Dean sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands for a few more minutes before slumping back against the back of the sofa. Cas re-entered the room, his mind trading worry and concern for calming reassurance the second he stepped through the archway.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled quietly, ashamed of allowing himself to express so much emotion and worry the people who mattered the most to him when they had much bigger things to worry about, “I don’t know what happened… I just…Can we not talk about it?” He looked up, studying each face that stared back at him with an annoying mixture of pity and understanding. “Sam, how did you get the video of Anna?” He needed a distraction. Any distraction.

“Well I kept having this vision, only not like one I’d ever had before. It just kept flashing in front of my eyes for a second and then disappearing again. It was a signpost saying ‘Gus' U-Serv Gas’, and the only one of those is in Idaho. So I hacked into their security footage,” Dean started to say something, but Sam cut him off, “It’s just something I learned on the road, Dean, don’t worry about it. Anyway, I hacked into their security footage and I saw that girl, the same one I had a premonition about before. That’s when I showed it to you.”

“Right, so Anna knows where we are. Okay, we have a head start. You said it’s a nineteen hour drive? They can make it in less, let’s say sixteen, so we need to be long gone by then. Bobby, is there anywhere else we can go?” Dean was frantically trying to come up with a plan, but to no avail. He looked around desperately as Bobby answered.

“I’ll call a few buddies of mine, see if anyone’s got a cabin,” Bobby grumbled, which Dean heard via Sam and Cas, since the older man was still not used to the means of communicating the other two used with Dean. He left the room, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket as he went.

“All right. Sam? Call Jess. Tell her it might be a crazy couple of days and that you’ll call her when you can. Then get your stuff together, plus anything else that might be important,” he paused and glanced at the doorway, before continuing in a whisper, “If your vision about this house is gonna come true, it’ll be in the next few days.” Sam nodded and left the room. Dean turned to Cas.

He walked towards him and laid both hands on his shoulders, staring into the blue of his eyes. There were a million things he wanted to say, but in the moment, only one question tumbled from his lips.

“How did you know?”

Cas tilted his head and squinted his eyes, confused. He looked back to waking up, hearing Dean cry out and feeling his panic as if it were his own. At the time, it had seemed completely natural and his whole being was focused on making sure Dean was okay, but now that he was looking back on it, Cas could see that Dean hadn’t shouted, at least not aloud, and that there was no way of Cas feeling his panic. Dean relived the memory with him, stunned into silence.

“Cas,” he began, his voice wavering, “I know a thing or two about other people’s thoughts, and what woke you up? Those were my thoughts and emotions. How did you…?”

Cas didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. He didn’t know any more than Dean did about how he’d heard his thoughts and felt his fear. They stared at each other in silence and awe, neither knowing what to say. After a few long moments, Dean shattered the scene.

“We, uh, we should get ready,” he dropped his hands from where they rested on Cas’ shoulders, “We’re leaving tonight.”

*** *** *** ***

The red lights of Bobby’s truck were like pinpricks in the dark ahead of them as Dean drove, with Cas riding shotgun and Sam in the backseat, west to Whitefish, Montana, where a friend of Bobby’s had a cabin they could hide out in.

They left Bobby’s at 6pm, hitting the road just as it got dark, and Dean planned to arrive at the cabin by 2pm, insisting that they don’t stop for the night, much to Cas’ disapproval. For once, Dean didn’t care. He ignored Cas’ worried thoughts and silent pleas to just get a couple of hours of sleep, and refused Sam’s offer to drive for a while, and clutched the steering wheel tightly while keeping his eyes locked straight ahead.

Nearly six hours later, as they pulled out of the courtyard of the 24 hour gas station they had stopped in in a town called Faith, Cas shifted in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. Dean glanced over at him quickly as he reached for the radio before turning his attention back to the road ahead. The other man fiddled with the radio, hopping from station to station, before he sighed and turned it off.

“I heard your thoughts, Dean.”

Sam was now driving Bobby’s truck, and so Dean and Cas had the Impala to themselves and were free to talk about the events of the day.

Dean sighed. “I know. I’ve been thinking about that, actually. I think – and I’m just guessing here – but I think I must’ve projected my thoughts to you. I mean, you know how when Ellen shot at us, your mojo kind of took over because of your emotions, or whatever? I think it was something like that. I was panicking and the only person who could calm me down was you so I just kind of… called out to you, I guess.”

Cas was silent for a minute, letting his thoughts flow but directing none Dean’s way, before he replied.

“Try again. Now. Try to do it now, Dean. Send me something.”

“Cas, I don’t know… I don’t even know how I did it the first time-“

“So try.”

Dean sucked in a breath and squared his shoulders, sitting up a little straighter. He turned his focus on the road into auto-pilot mode, as it was when he listened to music through Cas, and turned his thoughts to something else. What could he send Cas? He decided to send him a feeling, figuring it would be easier than a specific thought or memory, and thought back to that morning when the two of them had shared a kiss in Cas’ bed. He replayed the memory over and over, relishing in it, but focusing wholly on the joy and peace that accompanied it, and tried to project those feelings over to Cas. He tried every method he could think of: framing the emotion and imagining Cas experiencing it, reaching out to Cas’ mind so he could experience the other man’s emotions, and then sending his back the same way, but nothing worked. After a few minutes he huffed and slumped down in his seat.

“It’s not working,” he mumbled, tears almost pricking in his eyes with exhaustion and frustration, and just a pang of disappointment that he couldn’t show Cas how he felt about him and everything they were – whatever that was.

“Hm. We’ll try again another time, then,” Cas replied, before clicking the radio back on.


	24. Sam POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys so I'm incredibly sorry for such a long break since my last update but I'm finally settled into college enough to start posting again on a fairly-regular (hopefully!) basis.
> 
> If you want to keep up with me you can go here: bowlegdean.tumblr.com  
> And if you want to see what I'm doing in college you can go here: kayleighstravelblog.tumblr.com
> 
> This is unbeta'd so I apoologise for any mistakes :)

_“Cas!”_

_It’s choked and broken, a voice hoarse from either disuse or overuse._

_Green eyes are wide, the brilliant emerald contrasting with the vibrant pink and purple bruises. A punch. Blood. So much blood. It’s too bright. You have to close your eyes, to look away, but you can’t. You never can._

_“Cas!”_

_It repeats, over and over._

_Who’s punching? Is it Dean? No, his eyes are bruised. Not him. Then who? Cas. It must be Cas. You don’t see anything except Dean. Beat up and bruised, crying out his best friend’s name. His best friend. Why is he hurting him?_

_“Cas!”_

_You can’t watch anymore, and yet, the scene replays. Each cry, each sob, each spatter of blood exactly the same in painful high definition-_

“Sam!” Sam jumped awake as high as the cabin in the truck would allow, his head colliding with the ceiling. Bobby stared at him from the drivers’ seat, his expression impossible to decipher. Sam saw worry, no doubt about that, concern, fear, but also compassion. Support. He didn’t see any signs of pity.

“Sorry, Bobby,” he mumbled, bringing a hand up to rub the top of his head.

He didn’t even remember falling asleep, but it can’t have been long after Bobby took over driving again somewhere near Lewistown. He glanced out of the window at the passing country. They were driving parallel to a river and bordered on all sides by trees, and Sam guessed they were in the Flathead National Forest somewhere, or somewhere near there. He checked the clock on the dashboard, which read 1:13pm – they would reach the cabin soon, then. He knew, not so deep down, that he was only figuring all of this out to distract himself from what he’d witnessed in his sleep. Sooner or later, he’d have to think about it. He chose later.

Bobby, however, had other ideas.

“What’d you see?” he asked, glancing at Sam with that same expression. It invited trust.

“Nothing,” Sam lied, “Just a bad dream.”

“Yeah, and I’m the toothfairy. I ain’t dumb, boy, tell me what you saw.”

Sam sighed and looked sidelong at Bobby. The other man was silent. He didn’t press for Sam to speak, just waited patiently. With another sigh, Sam turned to look out the window.

“It was… I think it was… They’re fuzzy. Like… Do you remember that old tape you had of my favourite baseball game? How, by the end, it was more snow than picture? And it jumped around? The visions are kind of like that. Only, not. Anyway, I thought I saw Dean. Being hurt…” he trailed off and continued to stare out of the window. He would prefer to count every one of the tiny pebbles on the river bank then turn to face Bobby now. He knew he wasn’t because he would never let himself be, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was to blame for what was going to happen to Dean.

Bobby was silent for a time, giving no indication that he’d even heard, when he finally spoke. His voice was level and calm, for which Sam was grateful.

“D’you get a look at who did it?”

“No,” Sam admitted, looking down at his hands in his lap, “but… Dean was shouting Cas.”

“What kind of shouting?”

“I wish I knew.” Sam shook his head, wanting to banish the echoing sound of Dean’s broken calls from his mind, but they just replayed and replayed, like a broken record with no off-switch. The more he thought about it, the worse it was; half the cries sounded like Dean was being saved by Cas, while the rest sounded like Dean needed saving from Cas. Either way, Sam needed to focus on other things, Dean would pick up on something like this in his thoughts in a second.

He took the article from his pocket and read over it again, trying to distract himself.

_One leading scientist on the subject, Dr Fred Jones, is adamant that these mutations mark the next step in human evolution._   
_“The human brain may be an organ, but we can exercise it like a muscle. Individuals who lay claim to mutations such as, but not limited to: telekinesis, increased strength, and extrasensory perception, should use and exercise their ability in order to ensure it survives into the next generations.”_

Sam glanced up from the paper and a light in the wing mirror caught his eye. The sleek black car that followed behind them caught the light on the windscreen, effectively hiding Dean and Cas. This is how it had been for them for months, Sam realised sadly, travelling the back roads of America to try and find safety that supposedly lay at the end of the next street and yet always failing to reach it. Their first taste of freedom, and they weren’t free. They were still trapped, only this time, in a bigger cell. The facility still had its claws in them and they were sinking in, deeper and deeper, with every mile that disappeared beneath the tyres.


	25. Cas POV

“Are you good from here?”

“I can just about make out the cabin,” Castiel replied, “I think here will be fine if I spend a little time out here to get used to the lines and make them more solid.” He thought about the lines and the way they were falling into place, showing Dean what he meant.

They had already walked the perimeter of the cabin again and again, and they had explored the surrounding forest a little to secure Castiel’s escape route should he need it. It would be a much quicker escape if he had already seen where he was going, so he wasn’t caught off guard by the tangle of lines the forest presented him with. Now they had secured what Dean called their ‘Panic button’, though Castiel wasn’t sure why because it wasn’t a button at all, it was the farthest away Castiel could get from the house and still be able to ‘see’ it, and so, control the air around it. They wouldn’t be surprised by the facility finding them again. This time, they’d be ready.

*** *** *** ***

After a week, tension in the cabin ran high. No one was sleeping enough due to the confined space and there being only two beds so they had to alternate between bed, couch, and armchair. Everyone was worried that Perdition could strike any minute, and at the same time, they were all sick to death of waiting for them. On one afternoon, after Dean and Sam had an argument over what started out as an accidentally spilt beer, Dean stormed out of the cabin to roam the surrounding forests as he so often did. Castiel thought for a moment before following him out, mostly for lack of anything else to do.

He had mapped enough of the forest to be able to navigate it fairly quickly, and he had a pretty good idea of where Dean was headed. Behind the cabin and down the hill slightly was a massive tree, easily bigger than any of the others that surrounded it, with even its roots reaching Castiel’s shoulder-height. Where the ground had collapsed beneath it, there was a sort-of cave, sheltered by the tree and bordered on two sides by rock. The gap was just big enough to allow himself and Dean to sit in it, though they had to squeeze in fairly close to one another to do so, which neither of them minded.

Since that first kiss, things between them seemed to have calmed down. They hadn’t kissed again, and Dean had shown no signs of wanting any other kind of intimacy either. Castiel didn’t know whether it was because he had changed his mind or simply because of the close proximity in which they shared with Sam and Bobby, but he had to admit, he hated how little he and Dean had been alone. Come to think of it, Dean had been spending more time with Sam than he had with Castiel.

With a sigh, he rounded the final tree that concealed their cave and, sure enough, saw Dean’s shape huddled below it, legs outstretched in front of him and shoulders slumped. Neither of them spoke as Castiel neared, but Dean moved over to allow room for the other man to sit beside him. Castiel did so, and in a bold moment of confidence, rested his head on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean exhaled slowly, not in a negative way, but in a calm, contented, and maybe slightly nervous way. After a few minutes of silence, Dean shifted and Castiel lifted his head.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes?”

Dean was silent and fidgeted with something square in his hands. It was small and flat, like a postcard or something, Castiel thought.

“I… close your eyes,” Dean instructed, shifting so that he was sat directly opposite Castiel, who closed his eyes slowly. Dean took a deep, shaky breath, and then was utterly silent. Castiel waited.

Suddenly, his mind went foggy. Something changed. It was still plain, but the plainness was… different. The only thing Castiel could describe it as was when he blacked out and his mind changed. Whenever anyone passed out in books they say they saw white. With nothing else to go on, Castiel decided that what he was seeing was white. The white pulsed in the centre of his mind, diffusing out to the normal plainness around it. Castiel felt dizzy, but he persevered. His eyes squeezed shut tighter as the white started to fade into something else. It was strange, like his lines, but with no depth, and he wasn’t seeing them. It was like they were being shown to him. They were just there. The lines didn’t fall into place, either, they were just where they were and that was final. In the lines were different kinds of the white, all looking different, which Castiel assumed where the different colours. They were bright, and there were so many, he didn’t know what to think. He gasped and his eyes flew open and the picture disappeared. He fell back against the roots of the tree.

Dean was leaning forward in an instant, a hand on Castiel’s cheek. Castiel could see the lines on his forehead, his own kind of lines, and could hear the concern in his voice.

“Cas? Cas! You okay?”

“I… I’m not sure. What was that?”

“Just wait. Are you okay? Can you go again? I’m sorry, I’ll go slower this time, I didn’t realise how overwhelming it would be.”

The sincerity and kindness and regret in Dean’s voice, all tinged with worry, pushed Castiel. He sat up straight once again, squared his shoulders, and shut his eyes.

The hazy lines were back straight away, stronger than they had been before, and solidifying with every second. Eventually they settled. Castiel had no idea what was happening. They were people, there was no doubt about that. Two people, and they were smiling. One of them looked familiar, like the structure of their face was one that Castiel knew, but how? He couldn’t focus on anything except that person. He barely noticed the background. As he looked at, truly for the first time looked at the people, he was completely devoid of any emotion, save for a pang of disappointment. He’d always wanted to see, dreamed of it his whole life, and now that he could, it just left him confused and not much else.

Suddenly, it was gone. Castiel was thrust back into his normality, which suited him just fine. Neither of them spoke, until Dean shattered the silence.

“Well?”

Out of nowhere, a wave of emotion crushed Castiel; the sheer force and ferocity of it threatening to drown him. It hit him what had just happened. Dean had showed him something, really showed him. The way other people saw. The way Dean saw! Hot tears streamed down his face and violent sobs racked his being, but he didn’t care, just allowed Dean to engulf him in an embrace and hold him as he cried.

Eventually, the tears ceased, and Castiel could gather his thoughts enough to form a question.

“Who were those people?” he asked.

Dean laughed. “It’s us, Cas.”

Castiel was overwhelmed once more. He and Dean. That’s why one of them had looked familiar. That’s who it was. It was Dean. Dean was beautiful.

“Show me again,” Castiel demanded, “show me again and go over every detail. I want everything explained.”

“Okay,” Dean replied, and Castiel could hear the smile, “shut your eyes.”

They sat for the best part of two hours beneath that tree, Dean focusing on different parts of the photograph in his hands and projecting each over to Castiel’s mind, meticulously going over every detail; explaining the colours, which Castiel found wholly fascinating; showing him shadows; explaining how you could tell there was depth. When he focused on the Castiel in the picture - whose dark hair stuck out strangely, unlike Dean’s, and whose jaw wasn’t as strong, and whose eyes didn’t shine the same – Dean explained everything. He told him that his eyes were the exact colour of the sky on a beautiful day, only with the depth and swirls of an ocean, and that his hair was sometimes black and sometimes brown, depending on the light. When they were focusing on Dean, Castiel was concerned. His face was covered in dots, unlike Castiel’s, faint dots of a darker colour than his skin. When he pointed this out to Dean, the other man just laughed softly and explained that those were the freckles Sam made fun of.

By the end, Dean had explained so much, and yet, Castiel felt more confused than ever. He was happy to be thrust back into his own kind of sight, seeing only lines, enjoying the familiarity and simplicity of it all. He decided that he liked being able to see, but that seeing all the time might get exhausting. There was so much to focus on at once, colours and shades and shadows and light and depth and dimension, he couldn’t understand how anyone could ever notice anything.

“How did you do that?” he asked once they were finished, and lay back against the tree roots, both exhausted by the experience.

“I’ve been practicing,” Dean replied, his voice a strange mixture of pride and embarrassment, “I made Sam sit with me for hours while I tried to show him stuff. Now I can do it almost without getting a headache.”

Castiel’s breath hitched in a sob at Dean’s words. That’s why Dean had been spending so much time with Sam. To refine this perfect gift to Castiel. Without a second thought, Castiel dove towards Dean, planting a rough kiss on his lips.


	26. Dean POV

Dean responded immediately, his hands flying up; one to the back of Cas’ head, long fingers tangling in his hair, and one to grip Cas’ hip. The angle was awkward - they were sitting side by side - but neither man cared. The kiss was different to the last; a fierce storm in comparison to the feather light raindrops they had experienced before. Cas’ mouth moved quickly, with an urgency Dean could only hope to match and yet still soft, still perfect. Dean found himself leaning further and further out, to try and angle himself so he was facing Cas directly, but in the end gave up, opting instead to just straddle Cas, using his lips to pin him back against the tree roots. Cas’ tongue skimmed across Dean’s lower lip, refraining only to make room for his teeth to bite down softly. Playfully, Dean kept his lips sealed, smiling at Cas’ frustration around the onslaught of kisses. Eventually, Cas had had enough and with a low growl, which Dean felt rather than heard, pinched Dean’s hip. Hard. With a gasp, Dean’s mouth flew open. Cas, ever the opportunist, took full advantage, deepening the kiss. It felt so natural, to Dean, to give himself up to Cas in such a way. To shut his eyes and do what felt right.

He could read Cas’ thoughts, muddled as they were, see what he wanted and needed at that exact moment in time, and adjust accordingly: the kiss, his hands, the angle of his head. But Cas, Cas couldn’t read Dean’s mind, and yet, he knew. He knew exactly how to tilt his head. Where to place his hands (they were presently on Dean’s hips) and when to take control or fall back and let Dean dominate the kiss. When their teeth clashed, they laughed, a break in heat and ferocity for a giggle of shared breath while their foreheads touched. Cas’ hips bucked once or twice, Dean pushing them back down with his own, forcing a growl or a moan from the other man’s lips. He could feel Cas’ erection, through both pairs of jeans, flush against him, and he didn’t doubt Cas could feel his, too. With a sigh, he broke the kiss. Tilting his head forward and touching his forehead to Cas’, but he remained where he was – straddling Cas against the roots of the tree in their little hideout from Sam and Bobby. The other man’s mind flashed annoyance at the loss of contact, but a smile played on his lips as he breathed heavily, the quickly diminishing light adding dramatic shadows around a blue tinge to Cas’ skin. Dean committed the sight to memory, vowing to show Cas sometime. A vow he could now keep.

*** *** *** ***

They strolled back in between the trees hand-in-hand. It was properly dark by now, and Dean was relying solely on Cas to direct him, with not even a shred of moonlight breaking through the canopy above. He’d been ‘accidentally’ led into a few trees, and Cas swore he hadn’t noticed the log Dean tripped over but he managed to step over, but they were happy and they laughed as they walked.

As they rounded a massive Rabbitbrush, alive with yellow flowers (well, as Cas rounded it and Dean walked into it), Dean’s entire being felt as though it were split in half with panic. His heart jumped, pulse raising from normal to heart-attack levels in an instant, and his eyes widened in fear, made worse by the deep darkness that surrounded him. He knew, rationally, that it wasn’t his panic, and his first instinct was to help Cas. But when he managed to free himself from the confines of the shrub, he saw those blue eyes wide with worry, not fear, and Cas’ stance was protective of Dean, not one of panic. Sam. He used his newly acquired skill to send all the information over to Cas in an instant as he turned towards the cabin and broke into a run. He used Cas’ mind to navigate, only tripping a couple of times, and reached the wooden porch in a matter of seconds.

As he pushed the door open, Cas right behind him, the first thing he saw was Sam and Bobby standing against the opposite wall. Sam’s hands were raised out in front of him, defensively, and he had angled his body so that he could jump in front of Bobby at a moment’s notice. His eyes were wide and his cheek was bleeding just below his eye. Bobby seemed unharmed, if incredibly pissed off. When they noticed Dean and Cas, Sam’s mind filled with shame, and Bobby’s with worry for Dean and Cas’ safety. Without a second thought, Dean threw himself in front of Sam and Bobby, turning to face whoever it was causing the panic.

She regarded him coolly, as if the gun in her hand was nothing, her light brown hair tumbling past her shoulders in waves.

“What’s the matter, Dean?” she asked, her British accent feigning sympathy, “can’t hear what’s going on-“ she tapped her temple with the hand that wasn’t clutching the pistol “-up here? That facility of yours has some wonderful drugs. They can do all sorts of things. Including, as it happens, blocking out pesky mind-reading freaks. Isn’t that something?”

Dean had to listen through Cas, Sam, and Bobby, since Bela’s mind was impenetrable, but the message was as clear and unmistakable as if Dean had plucked it from her mind, himself.

“Bela,” he greeted, “s’been a while. Last time I saw you was in a diner in Ericson.”

“Ah, yes. When you went to see the Harvelles. Don’t worry, we paid them a visit, too. So much wood in one building – it’s a fire hazard! It’s a wonder that place didn’t go up in flames sooner. And all that liquor! Rum, tequila, Sambuca… it’s almost like it was designed to be a fuel.”

Dean didn’t let himself react to Bela’s words, not now, but he felt the pain – his own, and that of Sam, Cas, and Bobby - at the revelation that Perdition got Ellen and Jo and Ash and God knows how many others. He would deal with that later, he figured, he had to keep focused now. Without being able to read her mind, he had to watch Bela closely. Try and figure out her body language.

“Yeah, you and your friends like starting fires, huh? Speaking of, where are they? Waiting outside, ready to bust down the doors when you give the signal, huh?”

Bela smirked. “No. I came alone. You think I need an army of men backing me up?”

“Yeah. Actually, I do,” Dean intoned in way of a reply.

“Well I don’t. You can’t hear what I’m thinking, and lover-boy over there won’t try anything, either.” She gestured with the barrel of the gun towards Cas, who had moved to stand behind Dean.

“And why not?” asked Cas, speaking for the first time.

“Because,” Bela was almost laughing, “then Sammy’s little girlfriend gets it.”

The devastation that washed over Dean wasn’t entirely Sam’s, but it was Sam’s that made it crippling. He fought to stay standing while Sam buckled behind him. His brother hit the floor and Bobby dropped down beside him. Sam let out a choked sob, which Dean heard via Cas and Bobby. He had to stay standing. Stay in between Bela and Sam, Cas, and Bobby.

“You won’t hurt her,” Dean said, his voice failing as he tried to fight the urge to burst into tears as a result of Sam’s pain.

“Why not?” Bela asked. It was getting harder to understand her as Cas and Bobby turned their attention to Sam and away from her.

“Because you aren’t the type. See, even without my mojo, I can still read people. And you? You aren’t a killer. You won’t hurt anybody.” He didn’t hear the gunshot, but he felt it in the air, and he felt the panic it induced in the other three men. By the time he turned round, the bullet was already buried deep in Cas’ shoulder. He whirled around to face her again. “What the Hell is wrong with you? You don’t just shoot people!”

She shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Oh will you calm down? It’s a shoulder wound. I can aim. Now, come on, Dean. This’ll be a whole lot easier if you and Castiel just come with me now. I won’t even tell the scientists about your psychic little brother.”

“You will if they pay you,” Dean spat back at her. He wanted nothing more than to turn to Cas and Sam, to make them better. Both of them were crumpled on the floor – one physically broken, the other, emotionally. Bobby had removed his jacket and was pressing it against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Sam stared straight ahead of him, face devoid of any emotion, save for the tears that slid down his cheeks.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she replied, “but you don’t have a choice.”

She was right. He didn’t. He looked uncertainly from her smug smile, to his brother, his best friend, and his surrogate father on the floor. He couldn’t force Cas back into Perdition. Couldn’t be the one responsible for him going back there, or Sam.

“Just me,” he said. Cas’ mind exploded in protest. In fear, in sadness, in anger, and in protest. He couldn’t frame a complete sentence as a result of the pain mixed with the sheer force of the emotions. Dean shut off the connection with Cas' mind, ignoring him. “Just take me.”

“No deal,” Bela replied.

“Say you didn’t find them. Say we split up because it was safer. I’m still worth a lot, right? Enough to pay for your retireme-“

He could hear another mind. A female mind. It was weird, a mind like he had only ever heard once before. There was too much going on – like it was several minds all condensed into one, each fighting for dominance over the body. Like it was a vessel with a war between captains.

“Tell Castiel to put a sound barrier around you all,” the voices said, all of them in unison. He knew who this was. He knew those voices. It didn’t take him a second to deliver the message to Cas, and in a moment, the air around them was shimmering as Cas created a bubble around them, the skin of which was made of a space about an inch thick in which the air molecules were too far apart to deliver sound.

Dean watched as Bela dropped the gun, and clamped her hands to her ears. She dropped to her knees, squeezing her eyes shut and curling up into a ball. As if that would help. Dean had seen this. He knew what it was. He sent the thought to Cas. Anna was screaming.

*** *** *** ***

Bela was tied to a chair, surrounded by tiny shards of glass from where the windows shattered when Anna screamed. Her head lolled forward and she had blood dripping from one of her ears, and from her nose. She’d be fine, Dean knew, but he left Bobby to tend to her, regardless. Sam had called Jess – Bela’s bluff was just that. Jess was fine, and Sam could focus enough to pry the bullet out of Cas’ shoulder using a knife, and wine as a steriliser. All of their minds were hushed, exhausted and focusing only on the task at hand. Dean spoke with Anna.

“First things first – you on our team?”

“Do you see any soldiers?” she replied, staring at something just behind his head, as if there were someone else there. Her mind had always been hard to read, due to the nature of her ability and there being so much going on at once, but Dean could just about manage if he concentrated.

“No, but she didn’t have any, either.” He nodded towards Bela’s slumped figure.

“And look how that turned out for her.”

Bela started to stir. Bobby got her some water.

“Okay, so what are you doing here?” he asked. He didn’t fully trust her, but he could find no trace of a lie in her mind as she answered.

“I want to help you guys.”

Dean nodded and turned back to the others in the room.

“Anna’s with us, now,” he announced, before turning back to her. He directed his next words at her, but made them loud enough for the rest of the room to hear. “But if I get so much as a hint that you’re double-crossing us, you’re done. You got it?”

Anna nodded.

“All right,” Dean said, to no one in particular, and turned his attention to Bela.


	27. Sam POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so I wanna talk to you for a minute. 
> 
> I personally feel like this fic needs a new direction or /something/ because I feel it's become tedious. Not to write, I still love writing, but maybe to read. So please please let me know if it's boring or whatever because I really want to make this nice to read and it would be a shame for people to stick with it this long only for it to turn shitty by the end, you know? 
> 
> That being said, I'm still enjoying writing it and I might not get as much time to do so lately but I really am trying so I apologise for the infrequent and irregular updates but I hope you guys enjoy.
> 
> x

Sam finished treating Castiel’s wound as best as he could, and turned around to face his brother and Bela. She was far less intimidating tied to a chair, helpless, when she wasn’t hiding behind a gun. Her hair was messy and she had two long black lines down her cheeks like tyre tracks where tears had carried her makeup down her face. Her light, green eyes were wide with ferocity, and yet also squinted in pain.

Dean was seething. Sam knew this Dean – it was the same Dean that wanted to beat up the bullies who would pick on Sam whenever they went to a new school, that would shout into the air “I’m gonna rip his lungs out”, more of a promise to some higher power than to Sam. That was the Dean that stood in front of Bela, because that’s all Dean saw in Bela: a bully who’d tried to hurt not only his brother, but also his best friend, and the man who had been like a father to him. Bela had threatened everyone Dean cared about, and he would not let that slide.

“I don’t know where they are!” she repeated, wincing at the volume of her own voice.

“Oh really? And why should I believe you?” Dean asked, stepping closer to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. He stared into her eyes.

“Because you don’t have a choice,” Bela replied, still smug despite everything that had happened.

Dean stepped back and was about to let out another string of curses and threats, when Cas appeared behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Dean turned. They were silent for a few moments while Dean read Cas’ thoughts, before they turned to face Bela.

“All right,” he began, walking around Bela’s chair in a wide circle as he spoke, “what we’re gonna do here, is wait until those drugs of yours wear off. When I can read your mind, we’ll talk again. How’s that?”

Bela relapsed into silence, turning her head away and objectively ending the conversation.

“If it’s any consolation,  I think you’re a truly awful person,” Dean said calmly, before turning his back on her, walking over to Sam, and gesturing to Anna, who hovered at the edge of the room, paying attention to something unseen, to follow. The five of them, Dean, Cas, Anna, Bobby, and Sam, discussed what to do next in hushed tones.

“We can’t stay here,” Sam began, “if these two found us, who knows who else could? I’ve already told Jess to move. She’s gone to-“ he glanced at Anna uncertainly and didn’t continue.

“I’m with you now,” Anna murmured, far too distracted by something else to pay full attention.

Sam looked at Dean, still untrusting of Anna. She had struck fear into Dean and Cas’ hearts when Sam saw her sitting in the diner; they’d run for safety when they saw her in the convenience store; so why did Dean trust her now?

Dean was staring at him, following his thought pattern, when a new thought entered Sam’s mind.

“I can’t find anything in her thoughts to say she’s with them,” it said, and Sam realised in an instant that it was Dean using his new ability, “but I can’t find anything to say she’s with us, either. We’re just gonna have to play it safe.”

Sam nodded, and saw Castiel and Bobby doing so, too, and assumed Dean had told all of them at once.

“We can’t go anywhere, anyway,” Dean said, speaking aloud this time, “carting a woman tied to a chair is bound to raise suspicion, especially if the only place she’ll fit is in the back of Bobby’s truck.”

There was silence, and then Cas spoke.

“We stay, then. And we hope that Bela really was working solo, and that Anna will stay true to her word. Once Bela’s drugs wear off, we’ll be able to learn more, I’m sure.”

They all nodded, looking at one another solemnly (except Anna, who was paying full attention to other things).

“I’d better head into town, then,” Bobby grumbled, “we ain’t got enough beer to survive much longer here.” He looked over at Bela. “Better get some whiskey, too.”

*** *** *** ***

They were all reluctant to leave the cabin for the neighbouring forests. If Perdition showed up, they all had to be there. Cas had used the air to carry in some heavy logs from outside so more people could sit, and the five of them sat in the living room portion of the room, while Bela slept fitfully on the chair in the kitchen area. The conversation was light-hearted as they ate burgers, cooked and served by Dean, and drank warm beer from the almost-functional fridge.

Sam regarded the group: Cas using the air to pick up his burger and then to push Dean away when he tried to take a bite out of it. Dean’s wide smile and loud laughter as he nudged Bobby playfully and reminisced about the happy times of Dean’s childhood. Bobby’s attempts to remain gruff and indifferent failing miserably when Dean brought up the time that he jumped off the shed roof as Superman and Sam tried to follow as Batman. Sam laughed at the memory, which was probably more based on what he had been told than what he remembered, about riding to the ER on Dean’s handlebars and using the plaster-cast on his arm as a weapon when the brothers argued. Anna laughed, making everyone jump slightly due to them all being unaware that she was even listening.

“It sounds like you guys had fun as kids,” she said, for the first time, fully concentrating on the conversation at hand.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, glancing at Dean who was smiling slightly, “Yeah it was good.”

“I miss being a kid. I miss the emotions. Whatever drugs they used on me in that place dulled everything, probably so I could pay attention to the voices, huh? But when I was a kid, I felt everything so strongly and I’d give anything to have that back.”

“Even the bad feelings?” Sam asked, his thoughts turning to his own times of grief and sorrow and how he would have given anything to just not feel for a while.

“Especially the bad ones. They’re what make us human.”

They all considered this for a while. Sam’s thoughts turned, once again, to Jess. He longed to hold her, to tangle his hands in her long, blonde waves and to lose himself in her kiss. He wanted to trace her lips with his thumb and kiss her eyelids when they fluttered closed. The desire to kiss her swollen belly, to talk to their son, was unbelievable and he wanted nothing more at that moment in time than to be with her. In his own tiny portion of heaven. Anna’s words suddenly made sense to him. Missing Jess was what made him appreciate her that much more; worrying about her safety earlier when Bela had lied about knowing where Jess was had only confirmed in him that he would live only to protect her as long as he possibly could. Of course the bad feelings were most important; they were what caused the good to truly shine through. He looked at Anna again; the sunken eyes, so tired with the kind of deep exhaustion that never accompanies lack of sleep but favours instead the weary hearted, that held a kind of broken sadness Sam had never seen before.

“What was your childhood like, Anna?” he found himself asking, without even realising. Dean and Bobby looked at him strangely before turning to Anna, awaiting her reply.

“It was… good, I guess. I don’t remember much. My dad was a church guy, pretty high up, I think. My mom called me her ‘Little Miracle’ because they couldn’t get pregnant before I came along. They loved me, even though when I was a kid I wouldn’t go near my dad. I always screamed, saying he wasn’t my real dad and that my real dad wanted to kill me. They sent me to a child psychologist, and the facility found me from there, I think. I was in a different place for a while, and my parents visited me, but it wasn’t long before I got moved to the facility. That’s it, really.” She spoke as if the story were someone else’s and not her own – with total indifference and almost disinterest. No one replied; no one knew how. Cas reached out with one hand, taking Anna’s in his own and squeezing it caringly. Just like that, the case was closed, and the conversation returned to normal as Dean made fun of Bobby for something or other. Sam sat back and smiled, beer in hand.

*** *** *** ***

He leaned back in the armchair as far as he could, his legs stretched out on the coffee table, and tried to get comfortable enough to sleep. He could hear everyone else’s breathing; Bobby’s from the sofa, Cas and Dean’s from the twin beds, Bela’s from the kitchen, and envied their ability to find sleep when he just couldn’t. Huffing a sigh, he stood up and crossed the room quietly, mindful not to let his footfalls land too heavily. The door opened with barely a whisper of sound and Sam slipped out.

A little way off, Sam could see a small area, just a few feet across, where moonlight managed to penetrate the canopy above and illuminate the grass below. He walked over to it, his hands deep in his pockets against the chill that nipped at his skin, his feet dragging heavily through the long, dewy grass. Leaning back against the trunk of a tree, Sam shut his eyes and thought about the article he’d been given by the mystery girl in the gas station. The words played on his mind, but he had managed to subdue the thoughts enough that Dean hadn’t caught on, but how long could he keep it up? He knew Dean would be furious with him for trying to improve his ability, but why shouldn’t he?

If Sam feared one thing above all else, it was to not be in control. He’d been forced into it his whole life; his premonitions, Dad dragging him from motel to motel, his guilt. It felt as though everything that happened was to take away his right over himself. And now, Dean was doing it. anger started bubbling deep in Sam’s stomach as the thought developed, from a whispy idea into a full fledged, writhing thought that twisted and turned in his mind, dragging itself from one corner to the other and tainting everything it touched, his anger grew. It wasn’t Dean’s decision, it was Sam’s. Dean had no right whatsoever to tell Sam not to exercise his ability, to leave him trapped in a life where he was at the mercy of his own mind as it brought on onslaught after onslaught of images and emotions that were yet to happen. Kicking off the tree, Sam stood up straight and squared his shoulders. His eyes slid shut against the moonlight and he used his anger as a fuel; a fuel to forget the past, forget everything he knew - Jess, Dean, Stanford, himself - and focus entirely on the future.

For a moment, just a passing, glancing, brief moment, he thought he saw something, felt something. Although if he had to explain what, he would be at a loss for words. All he knew was that it was dark and painful and full of fear. But it was the future, there was no denying that, and Sam didn’t know whether to be delighted that he had been able to call on a premonition, or to dread whatever it was he’d seen.

Either way, Sam had to hide the thoughts and the anger he felt, and to act normally around Dean. He allowed the deep breaths of cool air to wash over him, inside and out, and to extinguish the fire that was burning within him. His head clear and his emotions in check, he walked back to the cabin, tendrils of pain teasing the edges of his mind.

 

 


	28. Cas POV

The images danced behind his eyelids, flicking from one thing to another: grass, tree leaves – so many different kinds of tree leaves - all kinds of plants, Dean’s jacket, a crayon he’d found, the blinking display on the radio alarm clock, and finally, Dean’s eyes. When Castiel had asked Dean to show him colours, he hadn’t realised just how many of each colour there was. Just with green, there were an infinite number of different shades and textures that made the colour appear different, although Dean assured him they were all the colour green.

“Your eyes are my favourite green,” Castiel murmured, eyes still screwed shut and concentration still focused solely on what Dean showed him. The images stopped for a moment, faltering before disappearing completely, and Castiel was thrust back into his own kind of vision. He saw the lines of Dean’s face forming a wide smile. In an instant, the images were back, and Dean explained each one in detail, as they sat crossed-legged on the bed, facing each other, while Sam, Anna, and Bobby played a game of cards in the other room.

Dean and Castiel had tried to join in, but it was deemed impossible fairly quickly due to the latter not being able to see the cards, and the former being able to read the minds of all of his opponents. So Dean suggested he walk Castiel through some colours – starting with green – instead, as they waited for Bela to wake up.

They didn’t have to wait long.

When Dean sent thoughts over to other people, there was like a two-way connection between their minds. So when Bela stirred and Castiel heard it, Dean heard it; and when Bela stirred and Dean heard her mind change from sleep to wakefulness, Castiel heard it. They both leapt up from the bed and ran over to her.

Castiel could see her shape, slumped over in the chair, and couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. He used his ability to turn on the faucet and get a glass, and carry the whole thing over to Bela, where he tipped her head back slightly and helped her drink it. Her cheek and forehead were clammy where he lay a hand on them to support her, and her breathing was ragged and shallow. She spoke in a raspy whisper.

“Can you hear me, Dean?”

“Yep,” he popped the sound on the p, “Clear as a bell. Actually, I started to hear you a couple hours ago while you were still passed out, but I figured I’d leave you to sleep.”

“That’s so noble of you,” she deadpanned sarcastically, tugging weakly against the restraints on her wrists to emphasize her point.

Castiel understood, though. He and Dean had both had to go through the drugs wearing off countless times, and no matter which drug it was, it always seemed to take its toll as it worked its way out of your system. Castiel knew Dean wouldn’t wish any aspect of Perdition on anyone – not even Bela – and that’s why he’d let her sleep it off.

“All right, now that we’re all here,” Sam, Anna, and Bobby had also crowded around once they’d noticed Bela was awake, “I’m gonna ask you again. Where are they? And more importantly, do they know where we are?” Dean was pacing in front of her.

“I don’t know where they are, and I don’t think they know where you are, either,” Bela replied, glumly. Castiel could hear the sincerity in her voice, and as Dean sent over the sincerity he found in her thoughts, he allowed himself to relax. They were safe, for now at least.

“She might know other stuff,” Castiel thought, directing it at Dean. He felt the air shift with Dean’s nod.

“So what can you tell us?” Dean asked, “You see, we figure you work so close with them, and you learn a thing or two.”

“If it gets back to them that I told you, I’m dead!” Bela protested.

“Yeah. No, I know. I guess you’ll just have to hope we win then, won’t you?”

She sighed and shifted in her seat, as much as the restraints would allow.

“You can read my thoughts anyway, and it’s not like you’re going to let me go, so I might as well tell you, I suppose. They’re using the subjects, and not just Anna, to find you. Last I heard, they also had Lilith and…”

“And who?” Dean demanded.

“Tessa.”

“Tessa?” the disbelief in Dean’s voice mirrored that that Castiel felt. His knees went weak with fear and he had to use the air to keep himself standing. Lilith was bad enough. She was eleven, one of the only children in Perdition, and could control people to do as she wanted. Tessa was known as Tessa ‘The Reaper’ Mareth. She was never allowed into the Rec. Room in Perdition, but all of the subjects knew about her. Tessa could kill a person with one touch – she’d killed three guards when they brought her in, not long after Dean arrived. If they were using Lilith and Tessa together, then they probably weren’t going to be showing much mercy.

“Alright so we don’t have a snowballs chance. What else? Which scientists are out? Guards?”

“Naomi and Alistair, naturally. You were theirs and they’re like children whose toys got stolen. As for guards, I only saw Uriel and Cain. Oh, and the guy in charge is furious.”

“The guy in charge? You mean-?”

“Yessir. You’re going to have to deal with Crowley.”

*** *** *** ***

Castiel was sitting on one of the beds with his legs crossed, leaning against the wall. He’d found an old cassette player and some tapes and listened to it quietly. He’d chosen the tape at random, but had almost instantly recognized it to be Jimi Hendrix’s Electric Ladyland, and presently, the haunting lyrics of 1983 (A Merman I Should Turn to be) drifted around him. He listened to the music deeply, effectively shutting off everything around him, and considered the lyrics.

Hurrah! I awake from yesterday

Alive but the war is here to stay

They seemed fitting, reminding Castiel of beginnings and of ends, of the instability of their lives, of how important now was.

So, my love, Catherina and me

Decide to take our last walk

Through the noise to the sea

Not to die but to be reborn

Away from a life so battered and torn

Forever

Dean was Castiel’s Catherina, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind, and he would give anything to be able to lead him to the sea and to wash away all of the blackness that tainted him; his feelings of being unworthy for any kind of love: from Sam’s familial love, to Castiel’s… whatever it was; his guilt at not being able to protect Sam his whole life; his regret over every tiny mistake he ever made, as if he were the only one to do so. To cleanse Dean of all of his negativity and self-loathing, Castiel would do anything. To have him be reborn into a new life, Castiel would die.

He listened to the song, following the beat and the melody; the harmony and the pitch. As it came to its end, he clicked off the radio and sat in silence. After a while, Sam came over, easily recognizable by his distinct size and footfalls.

“Hey, Cas,” he greeted, falling down onto the bed beside Castiel.

“Sam.”

“So you like music, huh?” Sam’s tone was light-hearted and purely friendly. From what Castiel could tell, Sam had no reason for talking to him except for genuinely enjoying his company – something no one but Dean had ever done.

“Yeah,” Castiel replied, sitting up a little straighter, “I like everything, I think. I’m yet to find something I don’t like listening to. There’s just so much to listen to at once, and one by one, the components are disjointed and not particularly nice-sounding, but put them together and you get something beautiful.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sam laughed, picking up the cardboard box containing the tapes and rummaging through it, “But you’ve got to update your cassette tape collection.”

“It’s not mine, but why?” Castiel asked, genuinely confused. He had been thoroughly enjoying listening to the tapes he’d found.

“Well, for one, they’re cassette tapes. And two, you get an iPod and you’ve got thousands of songs that you can listen to. And not just all of the old stuff Rufus likes but not enough to take with him when he leaves the cabin.”

“A what?” Castiel asked. The name was familiar, but he wasn’t entirely sure what the iPod was.

“It’s like a personal stereo. You can put a bunch of music on it and listen to it whenever you want.”

“And you can get me one of these iPods?”

“Yeah! You can have mine,” Sam replied, getting up from the bed and crossing the room as he spoke. He dug around in the pockets of his other pair of jeans for a second, before returning to the bed and dropping something small and square into Castiel’s waiting palm. “It’s called a Shuffle and it’s got a voice-over so you know what song’s playing. You want it?”

Castiel was speechless. Sam, whom he barely knew and who barely knew him, was offering him a gift that was second only to Dean giving him sight. He tried to form words that would be adequate as thanks, but everything his shocked mind strung together fell short of the gratitude Castiel felt. So, instead, he answered with a question.

“How do I put music on it?”

The lines of Sam’s face moved into a smile, dimples so deep that Castiel could pick up on them clearly. They spent the next hour or so with Sam putting music of Castiel’s choice on the tiny iPod – everything from Metallica, which reminded him of Dean, to Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake soundtrack, the haunting melody of which never failed to entrance Castiel.

About halfway through the process, Dean left Anna and Bobby in the kitchen area and came to join them, sitting on the other bed quietly as Sam and Castiel discussed the order in which the different albums and playlists would be so that Castiel would be able to find each item quickly. Castiel’s heart felt swollen in his chest and he had a true feeling of belonging, like discussing something as trivial as music was all that mattered in their upside-down lives. Like they didn’t have Hell on their heels. Like their world wasn’t about to end. Just as Dean insisted they include Bon Jovi – remember when we used to sing it when we were kids, Sammy? Man, we were terrible. Speak for yourself, Dean, I was pretty good – and Sam convinced Castiel that Vision by Jason Manns was absolutely necessary on his iPod, they heard Bobby call from the kitchen.

“Boys, get your asses out here. We’ve got company!”

There was a beat of silence; Castiel sensed Dean and Sam look at one another and then at him.

“It’s show time,” Dean deadpanned, not even trying to make the comment light hearted, and stood up. He offered a hand to Castiel, who took it gratefully. Neither man let go of the other’s hand as they walked into the kitchen with Sam and prepared for the arrival of Perdition.

With his head full of new music, his heart full of new belonging, and his hand in Dean’s, Castiel came to a decision. Hell could come to them all it wanted, but they would never go back to Hell. Dean squeezed his hand.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going away for a week so enjoy the next 2 chapters cuties, and happy halloween <3


	29. Dean POV

The three short raps on the door made Cas jump, and Dean squeezed his hand again. No one moved to answer it, and if anything, they moved closer to one another in their small huddle around Bela’s chair. Dean positioned himself in front of everyone else, if only slightly, and stared at the door as if it were the cause of their problems, and not the people beyond it.

The seconds between the sharp knocks and the door flying open could easily have been a lifetime to Dean, each one dragging out selfishly, relishing in the tension and enjoying the anxious suffering it accompanied. When the seconds finally reached their end and the door opened, it felt as if all the air had left Dean’s lungs, and he briefly considered that Cas was behind it. The thought was dismissed almost before it manifested and Dean shut his eyes.

When he opened them again, the room was four people fuller. He tensed, and felt Cas do the same beside him. Curiously, Sam’s muscled seemed to relax, and his mind was washed over by a kind of quiet relaxation, with only tendrils of emotion curling at the edges. Dean recognized it from when they were kids; Sam was ready to fight. He’d separated himself from his emotions and his mind was nothing but calculating.

Seeing Alistair was like a punch in the gut, he still wore the shiteating toothy grin Dean remembered oh, so well, and he walked with a kind of flow that brought bile up Dean’s throat. His hands were extended in front of him in a sickening gesture - the same gesture he would hold when Dean was laid out across the slab and Alistair was going to experiment. It took all of Dean’s willpower, and some borrowed from the minds of his companions, to keep him standing. He barely noticed Naomi, Tessa, and Lilith. Although he did note that Naomi was focused on nothing but Cas, save for a few evil glances shot Dean’s way, and that Lilith was agitated and energetic, jumping from foot to foot, and that Tessa was wearing sleek leather gloves and a cruel smile.

Forcing himself to focus, Dean pushed his awareness out, past Cas and Bobby and Sam and Bela and Anna’s minds, toward the door. What came back to him weren’t thoughts, but the kind of absence of consciousness he’s experienced with Bela. He cursed himself for not figuring out they would block him out sooner and sent the message out to those around him.

“I can’t hear them.”

Sam’s response was almost instantaneous, which made Dean think Sam had probably already assumed that their minds would be blocked.

“Can you put thoughts in their heads?”

Dean tried, reaching out to Naomi with the thought that she had an itch, a dreadful itch, on the back of her head. To his delight, she squirmed and a hand flew up to scratch furiously at the hair at the back of her head. Dean took just a moment to enjoy it, before sending the confirmation to the others.

Their responses varied from acknowledgement to some more sadistic thoughts, but all agreed that they needed to keep this ability secret as long as possible.

All in all, it had been only moments since the arrival of the scientists and subjects in front of them, and no one had spoken in that time. The two groups, four versus six, stared at one another, the former smug and the latter fearful. Eventually, Dean couldn’t take the tension in the air anymore and spoke.

“Well if it isn’t the Legion of Doom. I know, I know, we look great, but do you have to stare like that?”

“Dean! It’s nice to see you haven’t changed.” That voice, even via Cas’ ears and mind, sent shivers down Dean’s spine. The memories flashed in front of his eyes and rang through his mind - Dean, Dean, Dean. You have such promise! - it tore through his awareness, stealing his attention for itself and ensuring he couldn’t focus on the man stepping forward of the group. On Alistair. He felt himself sway on his feet, threatening to collapse, but a hand clamped down on each of his shoulders. Cas’ on one and Sam’s on the other, and all of the minds around him blossomed into support and encouragement and love and somehow, Dean managed to stay standing. To take a step.

“Alistair,” he greeted, thanking whoever was listening that his voice didn’t waver like he was expecting it to.

“You can hear me! That’s wonderful. It can’t be my mind you’re reading, I invented this new drug myself, but then whose? Ah, those friends of  yours are translating for you, aren’t they?”

Dean didn’t reply, didn’t want to justify anything this man, who brought him so much pain and suffering since he was a child, said. His heart was still pounding at a mile a minute beneath his ribs, but his mind and his breathing had slowed, a kind of calm settling over him and allowing him to focus even through his fear.

“Not talking, huh? That’s fine. So who do we have here? Castiel, I remember you. You were never my subject, but boy did I want to poke around in that head of yours,” Dean almost snarled at the comment and Cas gripped his shoulder again, sending calm and reassurance flooding into Dean’s mind. But even that couldn’t hide the underlying fear tainting Cas’ thoughts. “Have the drugs started wearing off yet? They don’t last forever you know. Let me know when they do. And who’s this? Sammy Winchester. Foresight is a very special gift, Sam, you should cherish it, improve it. I can help you with it-”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Dean yelled, cutting Alistair off and stopping his slow stroll towards them he’d begun as he spoke. “Listen to me, Alistair, you are never getting any of us back in there. Not me or Cas or Anna, and not Sam.” He wanted to carry on, to deliver some threat or something, but his voice failed. He cursed himself for being so susceptible to the fear Alistair induced in him, especially when the man was a few feet away threatening his family. The words hung in the air, and Naomi stepped forward.

“Castiel,” she began, extending her hands in a gesture that was probably supposed to be innocent and kind, but instead looked evil and manipulative and matched the sickly-sweet poison of her voice that Cas heard perfectly. Dean shifted so that he was even more in front of Cas and looked into his mind completely having effectively ignored it, and everyone else’s, since the scientists entered the room. He couldn’t cope with his own fear, let alone anyone else’s.

All of Cas’ thoughts were swimming in fear, every single one hindered by its venom, but also determination. Stubbornness. Protectivity. Dean couldn’t help but admire Cas at that point, and established a weak connection with his mind, just enough to show him the reassurance and admiration and love that Dean felt for him. Gratitude flared up in Cas’ mind, albeit briefly, and he pushed Dean aside with a gentle hand so they were side-by-side at the front of their group. He spoke.

“Naomi.”

“Castiel, you made a choice to leave us, and now I am giving you the opportunity to turn back on it. To take back the bad decisions and come back with us and it’ll be like this whole thing never even happened. Is it really so great out here? Driving around all the time in an old junker, never eating or sleeping properly? We gave you everything, Castiel. Food, a bed, a home-” Cas scoffed and Dean couldn’t suppress the smile at the way Naomi flinched. “Fine. You want to stay here with them? You may be able to move the air, Castiel. But I can move you. Lilith, sweetie, would you do something for me?” Dean swore under his breath and Cas’ shoulders slumped. Dean sent the information about Lilith’s power briefly to Sam, Bobby, and Bela. Anna was indifferent, listening only to voices everyone else was deaf to.

“Sure, mommy, like what?” Dean heard Lilith’s voice only via the others, but even he could sense the malice beneath her seemingly sweet words. Naomi leaned down to whisper into Lilith’s ear the command, and Lilith giggled while she looked back up at them. But it wasn’t Cas she looked at, or even Dean, her big blue eyes settled on Sam, her mouth twisting into a grin. Dean told Cas, not bothering sending him the images just screaming the words through the connection, before turning and laying both hands on Sam’s chest and pushing him backwards.

“Get out of here, Sammy. Now,” Dean thought, sending the words directly into Sam’s mind. Sam looked down at him oddly, allowing himself to be pushed back even as his mind started forming a protest to leaving, when his eyes opened wide and rolled back in his head. Dean felt it like ice as Lilith’s mind washed over Sam’s, like a lead blanket being laid over his thoughts and hers taking their place. His eyes rolled back into place after a second, but they were blank and emotionless, and even if Dean couldn’t read minds, he would have known that they weren’t Sam’s eyes he now stared into. His breath caught in his throat and he stumbled back from his brother - not his brother - and into Cas. Bobby also stepped back, pulling Anna with him and laying a protective hand on Bela’s shoulder, sensing that something wasn’t right. His mind was flooded with a fierce fatherly protectivity, which Dean barely noticed. He was too busy focusing on Sam and he jumped as the blanket over Sam’s mind ripped and holes began to appear, allowing some of his consciousness to trickle through. Dean dared a surge of hope that Sam was overcoming Lilith’s control, but it was quickly diminished as he realised that Lilith was in charge of even this, and that she was allowing Sam’s consciousness through so that he would know exactly what he was doing while she was in control.

Dean panicked, and unsure of what he was hoping to accomplish, focused his entire being on her mind as he wrapped his arms around Sam, pinning his arms to his sides. But couldn’t read her mind, and so didn’t know how it worked, couldn’t stop her, so he sent every desperate attempt he could think of into her thoughts. He tried to subdue her ability, imagined himself laying another lead blanket over her mind, despite not being able to see it. It didn’t work; Sam, pushing Dean aside and to the floor as fear blossomed in his mind, started walking. His strides were long, robotic, unnatural. Dean watched in horror as he approached the kitchen, voicing his protests for a second before his mouth clamped shut against his will. He reached the counter. Alistair and Tessa laughed. Naomi smiled smugly, staring only at Cas. Sam yanked open a drawer and pulled out a long kitchen knife, the stainless steel glinting silver in the light. Dean cried out. Tears began to spill down Sam’s cheeks, filling panicked eyes before they slipped down his almost expressionless face. Cas tried to run forward, to help, but he was pinned into place by just a flick of Lilith’s wrist. Anna was entirely devoted to her own mind. The tip of the blade began to pierce Sam’s stomach, slowly, his hands clutching the handle so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The pain and fear in Sam’s mind was driving Dean crazy, making concentration near impossible.

Wait! Sam’s mind, that’s what Dean needed to focus on, not Lilith’s! The easiest way to see Lilith’s mind right now was through Sam, and the instant he focused on it, ignoring the fear and the pain, he saw what he needed to do. Desperate, Dean tried to black out her mind completely, to sever the connection she made with Sam, by imagining a black smoke pouring in through her mouth and clouding her mind until it was in control of her body and she wasn’t. He sent it careering into her head with ferocity, folding in some of his own memories of pain and suffering just to hurt her a little more, and hoped.

It worked.

Sam slumped, the knife falling from his grasp, a dark red stain spreading slowly on the blue plaid shirt he wore. Lilith’s hands flew up and clutched at her temples, her eyes screwed shut as she tried to regain control of her mind. Dean divided his brain, one half focused solely on keeping the black smoke in Lilith’s mind thick and unwavering, the other focused on Sam. Dean ran over to him, dropping to his knees. Sam sat on his haunches, sobs racking his body. It wasn’t hard to tell the cut wasn’t too deep, an inch or two maybe, and the spread of blood was slow, but that wasn’t what bothered Sam. Dean could see clearly how disturbed he was at not being in control of his own movements; of telling his body one thing and it doing another. Dean  ripped open Sam’s shirt and grabbed a dishtowel, pressing the it against the broken skin. He grabbed Sam’s hand and placed it on the towel, encouraging him to keep the pressure on it. When Sam did so, and seemed like he could keep it up, Dean stood.

Alistair stared at him, eyes wide, and started to step forward before Naomi reached out a hand and grabbed him, pulling him back into place. An uneasy silence, save for Lilith’s quiet groans and laboured breathing, settled over the room. Dean crossed the room slowly, back to Cas, Bobby, Anna, and Bela, his footsteps like a heartbeat through the thick silence. He was exhausted, focusing half his energy on keeping Lilith incapacitated was draining him a lot faster than he thought, but he had to keep fighting.

Naomi had a fierce kind of panic in her eyes as she glared at Dean, and then at Sam, slumped on the ground. Somehow, that one look drove Dean crazy, and before he knew what he was doing, he had rushed forward and had Naomi by the throat, spitting insults and threats in her face only inches away from his own.

“You hurt my brother again and I will fucking kill you, Naomi. You come near Cas, same deal. You can’t win now, you bitch.”

He used all his physical strength to press harder and tighter into her throat, and sent memories of pain and fear and uncertainty and every other negative thing he had felt Cas feel as a result of Naomi’s work was directed Naomi’s way. She tried to scream, but with every attempt she let out more air that she couldn’t get back around Dean’s restrictive fingers.

Hands clamped down on his shoulders from behind, and he instinctively lashed out, his elbow connecting with a nose with a satisfying crunch. Alistair stumbled back behind him, and Dean continued to press harder and harder into Naomi’s throat. Her breathing was so shallow now, almost not there, and the strength had been sapped from her limbs, but her eyes were full of familiar nightmarish pain and suffering. Dean felt his lips twist into a grin, which was more of a sneer, but he didn’t care. Didn’t care that Bobby’s thoughts of him now were not the same fatherly ones as he usually had, but were fearful. Unsure. He didn’t know who Dean was, and Dean didn’t care.

Suddenly, his mind was filled with fear, but not his own. Cas. He whirled round, dropping Naomi roughly and severing the connection he had established with her mute mind. His stomach lurched at the sight, his breath rushed out of his body and his back and legs felt weak. Alistair was gripping Cas’ upper arms, holding him in place. One of Tessa’s hands was ungloved, hovering a few inches above Cas’ cheek, almost intimate if you didn’t know any better. But Dean did know better. He didn’t know what to do, his resolve left him in an instant and all he could do was stare as Tessa smiled wickedly and Alistair laughed.

“You’re weak, Dean,” he said thickly, around the blood still gushing from his nose, “you have too many feelings and emotions and relationships, and it makes you weak. I could attack any person in this room and you would willingly give yourself up for them, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you?” The words wavered and fell apart as Dean heard them; Cas couldn’t translate them properly due to the fear that drowned his mind, and Bobby didn’t translate as smoothly.

Dean didn’t reply. Didn’t have to. Alistair was right. Dean wasn’t worth hurting over, not for anyone, and Alistair knew it. His shoulders slumped.

“Fine. Take me, but leave them.”

Cas cried out and struggled against Alistair’s viselike grip, Sam, who was falling in and out of consciousness in the kitchen, protested weakly. Bobby sighed and shook his head. Dean ignored all of them. He had to do this; better him than them. Alistair’s familiar twisted grin made Dean feel sick, but just as he was about to speak, he was interrupted by a voice from across the room. Bobby was the only person whose mind Dean could read who was still focused enough to translate, and it was through him that Dean heard the British accent from the doorway.

“No deal.”

 

 


	30. Sam POV / Cas POV / Dean POV

**Sam POV**

The cut wasn’t deep and the pain wasn’t that bad, but Sam just couldn’t get over it. To not be in control of his own body, to be screaming in his mind for his legs to stop moving, for his hands to drop the knife, and for them to disobey shook him to his very core. He’d tried to scream but he was completely disconnected from his body and all he could do was watch from his front row seat as the knife pierced the soft flesh of his stomach. The fear in Dean’s eyes as he stared at him would haunt him forever. It was nightmare material.

He was slumped on the kitchen floor, vaguely aware that Dean had given him one job and that was to hold the dish towel against his stomach. He tried to focus himself enough to ensure he was doing it, he couldn’t let Dean down again, not now, but his arm felt like lead and he couldn’t lift it and the task went abandoned.

Somewhere in the distance, Cas cried out. Sam glanced up. Dean was slumped, defeated, and Cas was struggling to get to him against one of the scientists’ - _Alistair_ \- restraining hands. Sam tried to speak, to ask what was going on, but it came out as more of a whine and Dean looked at him exasperatedly with a slow roll of his eyes before looking back at Alistair. Bobby was shaking his head slowly. A surge of anger pushed Sam fully back into consciousness. What was going on? He had to help; to help Cas who was now slumped defeatedly between the scientist and the girl with the evil grin, to help Dean who looked so lost and hurt and confused but whose jaw was firmly set and whose eyes had turned glassy and devoid of emotion.

He tried to stand, but his body wouldn’t respond and he was thrust sickeningly back into the events of just a few minutes ago. Was it really only that long? It felt like he’d been slumped here for a lifetime. Why wouldn’t his body listen to him? Was his mind still being controlled by the kid, Lilith? No, she was on the floor, writhing and clutching at her head. Sam allowed himself a small smile.

“No deal.”

A new voice that seemed to startle everyone in the room into a still silence. British, Sam could tell that much, but he couldn’t turn his head to look at this newcomer. His voice had an air of arrogance about it, pompousness, and Sam, even in his almost inebriated state on the floor, decided he didn’t like the speaker - whoever he may be.

“So this is the infamous Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak. I have to say, you’re a lot more... _ordinary_ than I expected,” the British man continued, but he didn’t move from the doorway.

“You Crowley?” Dean asked, voice thick with emotion and exhaustion and even Sam could tell the fight was nearly gone from him.

“The one and only.”

“Look, do I get to ice this guy or not?” the girl with the dark hair gestured to Cas exasperatedly, looking in Crowley’s direction. Even though her words were steely and dripped with cruelty, the fear lying beneath them wasn’t as well hidden as she thought.

“Tessa, love, step back,” Crowley cooed, finally taking a step into the room and into Sam’s line of sight. His dark suit looked tailored - Sam felt a pang of sympathy for that tailor - and he carried with him an air of cruel narcissism.

“Now, Dean, unfortunately you just aren’t as valuable as you think you are. We’re taking all of you back, you, Castiel, your brother, and Anna. Bobby and Bela will be killed for assisting murderers avoid arrest, you understand? You can’t win this.” 

Sam's stomach turned at the words, he felt for sure that he was going to throw up, and there was a kind of almost-boredom lacing Crowley's words that made his skin crawl. Crowley’s confidence in what he was saying was infallible, there was no denying that, and surely everyone in the room could tell.

A thought entered Sam’s mind, just prodding at the edges first, checking that Sam was even conscious, and then slamming into his own thoughts, taking complete charge of his awareness and demanding to be focused on. He felt a twist of fear until he realised it was Dean sending the thought, and that accompanying it, were feelings of reassurance and comfort. He glanced up at Dean, who was staring solely at Crowley as he continued to gloat his excellence.

“Sammy, we can’t let this guy win. Cas came up with a plan, I don’t know if it’s gonna work or not but we have to give it a shot. So I need you to do something, Sammy. I need you to try and see what’s gonna happen next. I know I told you not to mess with your mojo, but we need you to, man. Can you do that?”

Sam allowed his mind to explode into all of the uncertainty he felt, and the raw feeling of _I can’t do it, Dean!_

All he got in return was a pressing reassurance, confidence, love. Dean thought he could do it. He had to try.

He let his eyes slide shut.

To let your memories fall away, for everything you know just to be let go from your mind, is unsettling. It’s like standing in a room and one side is your family, your friends, your home, your pets, your teachers, yourself, and on the other side, just darkness; a void that shows no signs of what it might hold. To then turn your back on your family and step willingly into the void? It’s not just unsettling, it’s unnatural. And yet, that’s what Sam had to do. He let himself step off the precipice of everything he knew and fell, head first, feet first, and every other first, into everything he didn’t know.

_“Cas!”_

_It’s choked and broken, a voice hoarse from either disuse or overuse._

_Green eyes are wide, the brilliant emerald contrasting with the vibrant pink and purple bruises-_

Sam’s eyes flew open. No, not that. He didn’t want to see that again. Dean was staring at him, a broken expression on his face. Sam looked away from him guiltily and stared incredulously at the scene before him. How long had he been focused on his premonition? What had happened? Dean sent him a quick _I’lltellyoulaterifwesurvivethisnowcanyoupleasegetonwithit_ before grabbing Anna and pulling her back so they were all inline, facing Crowley, who looked around him, expressionless.

He looked at Lilith’s writhing body, still trying to free herself from the black smoke; at Tessa, clutching her stomach and sobbing in between spluttering bloody coughs; at Alistair, pinned to the wall and struggling against invisible restraints, and Naomi, unconscious and helpless on the dusty floor; and finally, at Dean.

“Dean,” he said, his hands held out in a giving gesture that really just made Sam want to hurl, “You’re a smart lad. You know that I have more scientists, more subjects. What have you got? A mind reader who can’t read our minds, a psychic with no control – yes we know all about you, Sam – an overly emotional and sensorial schizophrenic, a blind telekinetic, a drunk mechanic, and a hostage we don’t care about. What exactly is your plan here? I have an empire Dean. You can’t take down an empire with a little army of freaks.”

“You know, maybe you’re right. Maybe we ain’t got a snowball’s chance, but you know what? We’re gonna try. We’re going to fight and give it our best shot because it is what’s _right._ I’ve had enough of your pompous ass telling people what they can and cannot do and using them for your own gain, so you know what? Here we are, team free will. And we will beat you into the ground, Crowley. I swear it.” He’d taken a step with every sentence, and stood now so close to Crowley that the other man had to crane his neck to stare into the intensity of Dean’s green eyes.

“Maybe I’ll just kill you all now,” Crowley said, smoothly.

Sam shut his eyes again.

_Crowley flicks his wrist and Bobby gets swept aside by some unseen force. He collides with the wall. A sick, dull thud. His body falls to the floor. It’s broken. It doesn’t get back up. Not now, not ever._

_The smile playing at Crowley’s lips isn’t human. It’s a smile of demons._

Sam’s eyes snapped open. He looked for Dean, but the scene had changed again. The five still standing, Bela now having joined them, had moved back from Crowley who now smiled, similar to the one Sam just witnessed. He held out an arm, mirroring the way he had in Sam’s premonition.

“Dean!” Sam managed to croak. His brother looked at him and nodded a short, curt nod. He’d seen. He knew. Sam sagged back against the cupboards, a headache threatening the edges of his mind. Dean jumped and pushed Bobby out of the way just as Crowley’s wrist flicked. The older man hit the ground hard, but it didn’t compare to the way Dean’s body hit the doorframe and fell to the wood floor. The sound wasn’t the same as what Sam heard in his premonition. It wasn’t as dull and hollow sounding, but there was a sickening crack that accompanied it. As Dean fell to the floor, leg angled in a way that shouldn’t have been at all possible, Lilith’s eyes snapped open. As Crowley laughed and the, now smaller, group retreated further, the child got to her feet and walked over to where Crowley stood. She was uncertain on her feet and her eyes squinted against the light, but she was standing, and that was bad news. With no other way to help, Sam focused on Lilith and shut his eyes again.

_It feels wrong to watch a child be hurt, but then you remember what she did to you, to Bobby. You feel the smile twist at your lips as the girl screams. For a moment, you fear that this isn’t you. You would never smile at this, and yet you are. And it is you._   
_She crumples to the floor and a surge of triumph flows through you._

When Sam’s eyes opened, he feared that he was still in some sick premonition. His head was pounding now, and he was shaken to the core from what he’d just witnessed. He’d felt his own smile, his own joy at watching Lilith be hurt. He couldn’t enjoy such a thing, could he? He didn’t have time to dwell on the thought and watched in horror at the scene that played out in front of him. He had to stay awake, even as sleep grabbed at him roughly.

Cas was standing in front of Dean, a fist twisted into the front of his t-shirt. The other hand raised above his head before it was brought down and he punched Dean hard. Sam tried to cry out, but his voice was lost as he drifted ever closer to the precipice of consciousness. He was helpless to do anything but watch as Castiel rained punch after punch down on Dean.

“Cas!”

Dean’s voice yanked Sam back from the blackness that he hadn’t even realised he’s entered. When did he pass out? It didn’t matter, Dean was still being beaten to a pulp by Cas, his face swollen and bloody.

“Crowley! You called us freaks, but you’ve got more juice than anyone else here!”

“What can I say, Dean? Hell isn’t run by angels.”

Punch.

“Cas!”

His voice was broken and choked. Sam knew it. This was what he’d seen, when he’d fallen asleep in Bobby’s truck and earlier, when he’d tried to induce his own premonition. Dean was crying out for Castiel again and again. Sam turned his head slowly to the rest of the room, unable to watch. His eyes threatened to close again as unconsciousness gripped at him. He fought it. Bobby was slumped on the ground - was he breathing? Sam couldn’t tell. Bela, Anna, and Lilith were nowhere in sight. Crowley was watching idly as Cas beat Dean.

“Cas!”

Sam slipped back into the blackness, vaguely aware of a kick being delivered to Dean’s stomach.

*** *** *** ***

**Cas POV**

 

“Cas!”

Dean was in trouble. Dean needed him. Why couldn’t Castiel see the lines? Why couldn’t he move? He was trapped in a body heavier than lead and forced to listen to thud after sickening thud, sob after heart-breaking sob.

“Cas!”

Unconsciousness gripped him again.

*** *** *** ***

**Dean POV**

 

He couldn’t think straight. Each punch hurt more than the last, each kick worse than the one prior. He stopped crying out for Cas. Cas wasn’t listening, and this person, the one punching and kicking and breaking Dean’s already damaged body, wasn’t Cas. Blood stung in his eyes, filled his mouth, choked him.

As he collapsed, falling briefly from Not-Cas’ grasp on his shoulder, he noticed that the cupboard fronts in the kitchen hadn’t been painted in a while and were peeling miserably. There were signs of damp there, too. He decided to fix it when all this was over.

He was yanked back up, pain exploding in his cheek as another blow landed there, his teeth forced to bite into the soft flesh. A tooth came loose. He spat it out.

A thought tore through his mind. Breaking through the pain and confusion. Not his thought, he couldn’t think straight. Whose?

The blows stopped. Cas released his shoulders. He slumped, his head colliding with the wooden floor. The pain barely registered. Nothing registered.

*** *** *** ***

**Sam POV**

 

Dean had collapsed. When? He wasn’t slumped like that a second ago. Cas’ body was near Dean’s. Where’s Crowley?

Anna was there, the only one still standing.

Sam’s so tired. Would it be so bad to sleep again?

*** *** *** ***

**Cas POV**

 

The lines were gone. Where? Is this what true blindness is? At least he could sit up. Could he speak?

“Dean.”

It didn’t sound like his voice, but the sandpaper in his throat assured him that it was he who’d spoken. The room was quiet. Dean wasn’t crying anymore. That’s good. Was that good?

“Dean?”

He had a pretty good idea of where he was. Where Dean was in relation to him. Can’t stand, legs won’t work. He half-crawled, half-dragged his way over to where he thought Dean was. A body. Dean’s? His fingertips danced over the face, exploring the jawline and the nose, the curve of the cheeks. Not Dean. The face feels distorted. Swollen and broken, covered in some warm liquid. Blood? It couldn’t be Dean. He shoved the body aside. He had to find Dean.

A hand was placed on his back and he jumped. Dean!

“Castiel.”

His heart felt as though it deflated. That wasn’t Dean’s voice. Not the familiar nickname Dean had given him. Who was that? It was a woman’s voice.

“Castiel, it’s me,” helpful, Castiel thought. “We have to get out of here. Can you walk?”

“No.” He can’t walk, and even if he could, he wouldn’t. Not without Dean walking by his side. “Dean.”

“He’s here, Castiel. You had him a second ago.” She took his hand, whoever she was, and directed it back to where it just was. The swollen face; puffy flesh; blood. Dean? It couldn’t be Dean, and yet… sobs, cries, thuds, _Cas!_ Had someone been hurting Dean?

Castiel had not the energy to get angry, opting instead to wrap his arms around Dean’s shoulders and lay his head down on his chest. It rose and fell with Dean’s shallows breath. He was still breathing. Broken, but not irreparable.  

Castiel gave over to the sleep that pulled so violently at his mind, demanding charge of it.


	31. Cas POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated in like 8 years, I'm sorry! It's the last couple of weeks of school and everything's kind of hectic right now.
> 
> Hope you're still enjoying reading as much as I'm enjoying writing <3

His head hurt, the lines were blurry, and his hard, lumpy pillow rumbled and moved most inconsiderately. He tried to grip onto sleep, to coax it back to him, but it was in vain. Reluctantly, Castiel allowed himself to wake.

His pillow, he realised with a start, was Dean’s chest. Moving with the kind of deep breaths that accompanied even deeper sleep; rumbling with soft snores. With reluctance in his heart and a groan escaping his throat, Castiel put one hand on the floor to support himself as he forced his body into a sitting position. The floor was wet; slick with some thick liquid. In an instant, the night before rushed back to him.

Blood; cries; sobs; crashes; exhaustion; Dean.

He tried to stand, his aching muscles protesting to the movement, and his mind refusing to cooperate in drawing up the lines. He groaned again, his ears ringing and his head aching, complimenting his screaming muscles nicely.

He’d passed out. What had happened after that? Hell, what had happened _before_  it? He remembered waking up, if only partially, to hear Dean screaming in pain, choking on tears. He’d passed out on Dean’s chest. When? He remembered crawling, desperately searching for Dean’s body on the ground. Someone must know. The woman! Castiel realised with a start, teetering on his unsteady feet. A woman had laid her hand on his back, helped him find Dean. Who was she? It can’t have been Bela. The accent was wrong. Wasn’t Naomi. Anna.

Had Anna made it?

Castiel listened carefully, his lack of vision, even his own version of vision, making him uneasy. How many people were in the room? How long had it been since he’s passed out? Who had hurt Dean?

He tried to stand, but his legs weren’t strong enough and he collapsed back down, landing heavily on Dean, who woke with a cry of pain.

“What? Dean what is it?” Castiel cried, both aloud and in his mind, he couldn’t sense the lines and it was _frustrating._

“My leg,” Dean managed to hiss between pained breaths. His voice was thick and sounded strange, as if his lips were the wrong shape. Castiel remembered with a start how puffy Dean’s face had been. “My fucking leg, Cas, get off it,” Castiel shifted up Dean’s body so he was sitting beside his chest and Dean muttered something that could have been thanks.

“What happened to your leg?” Castiel asked, his fingers hovering over where he thought Dean’s leg was, too afraid to touch it and coax another broken cry out of Dean.

“Crowley’s a freak, too, apparently. And he can do that thing you can do with the air,” Dean replied. From the shuffling sound, Castiel assumed he was trying to sit up. He wanted to help but he couldn’t see where Dean was and was too afraid of accidentally hurting him again.

“How?”

“I don’t know, he didn’t say. He was too busy throwing me against the wall and controlling you.” Dean’s voice was sharp and Castiel jumped at the harshness of it.

“What do you mean controlling me?”

Dean hesitated before answering, “Nothing, it doesn’t matter. Help me up.”

“I can’t.”

“Great, so we’re both fucking beached. Perfect. Lie down again, then.”

Dean didn’t lie down completely, but leaned back on his elbows. Castiel complied, laying his head back on Dean’s chest as it had been when he woke up.  One of Dean’s hands found its way to Castiel’s hair and the massaging motions of his fingertips comforted Castiel’s screaming mind.

“Your brain’s all confused,” Dean murmured. His voice was still tinged with pain and every so often he would hiss out a breath or sharply inhale.

“I can’t see,” Castiel replied, allowing frustration and unease flow to the surface of his thoughts so Dean could see. “You need a hospital.”

“I’ll be alright,” Dean replied. Suddenly, he sat straight up, pushing Castiel off. “Where’s Sam?”

Memories flooded Castiel’s mind, Sam staggering to the kitchen, opening the drawer. The way the air around Sam’s stomach had felt when the blade pierced the flesh was enough to make Castiel feel the sharp pain. They had to get to Sam.

The going was slow, and Castiel was beyond annoyed that he couldn’t see for himself where they needed to go, but with him cushioning Dean’s leg as well as he could, and the two of them half-dragging, half-crawling towards the kitchen, they eventually reached Sam.

Dean explained everything as he saw it.

“Alistair’s collapsed on the floor. You did that.”

“Naomi’s unconscious.”

“Tessa’s unconscious.”

“Crowley, Lilith, Bobby, Bela, and Anna are gone.”

But he didn’t send images into Castiel’s mind, he didn’t have the strength. When they reached Sam, he asked Castiel to leave his leg alone. Reluctantly, Castiel obliged, and Dean inhaled sharply around the pain.

“Sam! Sammy?” he said, his voice almost hesitant, as if he were scared of yelling at his brother. “C’mon, man, you gotta wake up. Sam. Jess is waiting for you, buddy. I’m sorry I dragged you into this, you had a good thing going and I ruined it. Sam, wake up. No, no, no…” Dean’s voice dissolved into sobs and Castiel lay a hand on Dean’s back. Dean shrugged it off.

“Sam, wake up,” he said sternly, “You gotta wake up-”

“Dean?” the voice was broken, quiet, and barely there, but it was undoubtedly Sam.

“Sammy?”

“What happened?” There was a shuffling, as if Sam was trying to sit up.

“Don’t try and move, Sam, hold on.”

“Where’s Bobby?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s only us three here until the scientists, Lilith, and Tessa wake up.”

“You’re awake!” the voice startled Castiel, and he felt Dean jump beside him. “Come on, we’ve got to go. Castiel, can you stand?” It was the same voice from the night before - Anna.

“I’m not sure,” Castiel replied, “can you help me?”

“Garth!” Anna called, and Castiel was overrun with confusion. Why would she shout ‘Garth’? All he did was ask for help. Was this another social conduct he didn’t understand? Suddenly, there was a thud as someone dropped to their knees beside him and an arm wrapped around his chest beneath his armpits. He was hoisted to his feet as his helper spoke.

“Hey, partner, I’m Garth.”

“Hey, hey, hey, no, wait-” Dean interrupted, grabbing Castiel’s leg, “who is this guy? Anna?”

“I called him.” Castiel knew that voice, but from where?

“Ellen?” Dean asked, the disbelief evident in his voice. So that’s why Castiel knew her voice. His ability hadn’t been working last time he met Ellen, either, he noted distractedly as he leaned heavily against Garth.

“What’s going on?” Sam croaked from the floor.

“I think we’d best explain that on the way, Sam,” it was Anna who spoke now, “You and Dean both need a doctor, and I think everyone else should be looked at as well.”

“What? Dean, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Sammy, I’m fine.”

“Who are you kidding, Dean, your leg ain’t supposed to stick out that way,” Ellen laughed, and Castiel felt a weary warmth towards her, and indeed everyone who was with them now. Even in this, the devastation after the storm, they could laugh and joke and maybe everything would be okay.

“Alright, fine,” Dean mumbled, “but what do we tell the doctors? Cas and I don’t even officially _exist_.”

“It’s alright, the doctor we’re going to won’t ask any questions, I promise. S’a friend of mine,” a girl answered, and it took Castiel a second to recognize Jo’s voice.

“Hey, Castiel, right? Isn’t that an angel? My parents were super religious, but I never got the hype…” Castiel half-listened to Garth’s life story as he was led to and piled into the back of a car. It didn’t smell like the Impala, but Dean was lying across the seat beside him, his leg resting in a static cushion of air courtesy of Castiel, so he couldn’t make himself care. Sam was in the front seat as Anna drove, and Dean told Castiel that they were following Ellen who was leading the way to this doctor-friend of hers.

As they drove, Castiel tried to draw up the lines of the car, but whenever he pictured them or tried to feel the air around him, his head ached in protest and his stomach turned and his attempt was shut down. His mind felt empty without the familiar constant of the lines and a strange sense of loneliness filled Castiel. Dean’s thoughts prodded against the edge of his mind, and Castiel opened up to the love and assurance and comfort that Dean flooded his thoughts with.

Suddenly, about four hours into the journey, Sam’s breathing quickened in the front seat, the slow sleepy breaths being replaced with sharp inhales and hissed exhales, along with whimpers and pained groans.

“Sam! Sammy!” Dean cried, trying to sit up. Castiel used the air to force him back down.

“He’s having a premonition, Dean, what do I do?” Anna yelled back from the front seat, but Dean wasn’t listening to her thoughts or Castiel’s, solely overcome with Sam’s premonition. He was breathing almost perfectly in time with Sam, both of them choking and sobbing around panicked inhales. Castiel, knowing not what else to do, cried out to Dean’s mind, trying to grip hold of the connection that they had just a few moments prior. It was weak, but Castiel was pretty sure it was still there. Just as Dean had done for him only moments ago, Castiel sent wave upon wave of reassurance and comfort to Dean.

“It must be bad,” Castil remarked, refusing to raise his voice, “he’s never reacted like this to Sam’s ability before. But I suppose it could be because he’s so weak. Whatever it is, we just have to wait it out.” It pained him to say it, but Castiel knew he was right. They would just have to wait for the premonition to pass. “How are you Anna? How are the voices?”

“Really, Castiel? Now?” Anna was nearly hysterical, it was evident in her voice, but Castiel persisted. He needed to calm her down.

“There’s nothing we can do for them! Humour me.”

“Fine! I haven’t heard anything for a while. I don’t know, it feels like they’re anticipating something. I know it’s stupid to say, but whatever.”

“It isn’t stupid, Anna. You know your own ability better than anyone-” Dean and Sam gasped awake, effectively cutting off what Castiel was going to say next.

“Sam, are you alright?” Dean asked, trying to catch his breath.

“Yeah, m’fine. It was… it was nothing,” Sam’s voice was shaky at best, and everyone knew Dean had seen what Sam had seen. The mere fact that Dean had to ask if Sam was okay showed that whatever they had seen, it was bad. Regardless, he let it go and didn’t press Sam any further. An awkward air hung in the car until Castiel couldn’t take it anymore and spoke again.

“So nothing, huh, Anna?”

“Not since Crowley left.”

“Yeah, what happened with that? I was kind of, um, distracted,” Sam almost yelled, jumping at the opportunity for a change in topic, no doubt.

“Oh, right, um. I don’t know how much you saw, but it was crazy,” Castiel settled back in the backseat and made sure to translate everything Anna said for Dean. She explained everything to Sam, from the way Dean took Lilith and Naomi out and broke Alistair’s nose, to how Sam’s premonition had saved Bobby’s life, to how Lilith had been freed from whatever Dean was doing when he broke his leg and momentarily passed out and controlled Castiel to beat Dean up.

Castiel’s stomach reeled. It was him?

_“Cas!”_

_Dean was in trouble. Dean needed him. Why couldn’t Castiel see the lines? Why couldn’t he move? He was trapped in a body heavier than lead and forced to listen to thud after sickening thud, sob after heart-breaking sob._

_“Cas!”_

It was him. He had hurt Dean; had coaxed broken sobs and choking breaths from him. When his fingertips had dusted over Dean’s face and found it to be puffy and bloody and broken, it was thanks to him. Castiel couldn’t catch his breath. Why had he done that? What had made him do that? Anna said Lilith, but surely no force on Earth or in Heaven was strong enough to make him hurt Dean. The one person Castiel would happily die for, and he’d brought him so much pain. A sob ripped through Castiel’s body, and try as Dean might to fill his mind with forgiveness and reassurance, Castiel refused to open up to him. He didn’t want to be comforted of this. He deserved to pay penance for what he’d done to Dean.

Dean’s hand rested on Castiel’s cheek, but he turned away from it. Dean didn’t try to comfort him again, physically or in his mind, and Castiel turned his attention back to Anna’s words.

“When Lilith had control of Castiel, and you were unconscious in the kitchen, Sam, it didn’t look good. Bobby and Bela and I could only watch because Crowley stopped us all from moving, as if there were a wall in front of us, and honestly, I thought that was it. But then the voices in my head started _screaming_ at me,” her voice was haunted by the memory, and Dean flinched beside Castiel as she recalled it, “and they told me what to do. I didn’t think it’d work, but they were adamant. So I told Bela and Bobby- What is this guy doing? Pulling out in front of me, great. Asshole,” Anna’s bout of road rage severed the tension that had risen and risen with every word she’d said about the events of the day prior and Sam barked out a laugh, which Dean mirrored, and both laughs were closely followed by a sharp hiss of pain at the sudden movement. Castiel smiled, and was once again struck by how light can shine through anything, as long as you have the right people with you helping to pull back the curtain. “Anyway, the voices weren’t even _saying_ anything, they just screamed and screamed and screamed, and somehow I got the message.”

“What was the message?” Sam asked, his voice still hoarse, but considerably less so.

“To kill Crowley.”

That familiar Silence filled the car as everyone considered the weight of what Anna had just said. They had stolen, yes, gambled, hustled, and cheated. Hell, just yesterday, they had hurt people. But murder?

“Okay,” Sam finally said, “and did you?”

“No. He left as soon as Bela and Bobby pulled guns on him.”

“What do you mean, ‘left’?” Dean spoke this time.

“I mean, the guy has serious power, and he disappeared. I don’t know if it was an invisibility thing, you remember, like Adam in the facility had? Where he could just fade from view when he wanted to?” Castiel remembered Adam. He had been young, and as the result of an abusive father, not unlike John Winchester, had developed the ability to hide in plain sight. “So it could have been that, or maybe it was more like teleportation. But I’d put my money on that it was Adam’s thing.”

“Why?” Castiel began to ask, but he was cut off.

“Ellen’s pulling off, I think we’re here!” Anna said, a hint of something in her voice, though Castiel couldn’t figure out what; it made the hairs along his arms stand on end.

The car swerved off to the side, and then the road became a lot bumpier than it had been, and Dean and Sam both hissed as it jostled their wounds. Castiel tried to cushion them as well as he could, but the lines in his head were still MIA and he found it hard to pinpoint exactly where the cushion was needed. The Winchester brothers still thanked him, regardless, and he felt a grim mockery of pride at helping them; the shame he felt about hurting Dean was still strong and it made its presence known any time Castiel’s thoughts turned to his best friend.

The fact that Dean forgave him, or seemed to, was irrelevant. Castiel knew, in his heart of hearts, that he would never forgive himself for allowing Lilith to use his body to hurt Dean. Not if he lived for an eternity.


	32. Sam POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY FOR THE HUGE DELAY I AM TRASH AND MAJOR THANKS TO THE NONNIE WHO MESSAGED ME ON TUMBLR. THIS FIC ISN'T ABANDONED I PROMISE <3 
> 
> find me here: mistercomatose.co.vu

The guy from earlier, Garth, helped Sam get from the car to the building, which was definitely not a hospital or doctor’s office of any kind. As he limped, doubled over to prevent the cut from reopening, and leaning heavily on Garth, he idly wondered who this ‘doctor’ was. The thought was quickly forgotten when he tripped, pulling on the delicate scab and reopening the wound on his belly, and all he cared about was getting himself patched up.

Castiel and Dean helped each other into the building, Castiel using the air to support Dean’s leg as he helped him hop, and Dean sending Castiel the images of what he saw so they were headed in the right direction. It was slow going, but before long, all of them were in a homely and tastefully cluttered living room, and Ellen, Jo, Garth, Anna, Bobby, and Bela stood around them.

“Can someone get Sammy a towel or something? Kid’s gonna bleed out!” Dean yelled, almost before Castiel had set him down on the couch.

“Oh, Dean, relax,” a voice cooed. Sam didn’t recognize it, and was instantly wary of the speaker, “I’ll patch him up now and he’ll be as good as new.”

She stepped into view from behind the couch Sam was laying on, her hair dark and falling in waves past her shoulders, her blue nurse’s uniform crisp and seemingly unworn.

“You’re a nurse?” Sam asked, relieved and yet still untrusting of the stranger.

“Oh, no. I’m not a nurse, I just play one on TV. Garth, Bobby, help get him onto the table.”

Sam was hoisted to his feet and his shirt removed, the pain almost unbearable as the skin around the torn flesh stretched and moved. He hissed a breath out between his teeth as he was walked, Garth under one shoulder and Bobby under the other, over to the table.

Dean was yelling from his couch, but from his position on the dining table, Sam couldn’t see him.

“Hey, wait! You aren’t a doctor?”

“Do you want some drugs to relax? Because if you don’t shut up, that’s what you’ll get,” the woman quipped as she pressed lightly at the skin surrounding Sam’s wound. “That hurt?” Sam shook his head. It did, but not any more than you would expect it to when a woman kneads at torn flesh.

“Alright, I’m gonna get you an anesthetic so I can poke around inside you without you squirming,” the woman said, and Sam could practically hear the smile in her voice.

“No,” he replied quickly, “no anaesthetic. I’ll- I’ll be alright.” He couldn’t bring himself to be completely unaware and vulnerable, even with this woman, who Bobby, Ellen, Anna, and Garth all seemed to trust.

“Fine,” she shrugged.

There was a brief silence, broken only by the clattering of the woman as she organized the utensils she would use on Sam when suddenly, Castiel spoke.

“Meg?”

The clattering stopped.

“You are, aren’t you? You’re Meg Masters?”

The extensive silence was the kind that could drive a man insane, and Sam wanted nothing more than to know what was going on, but with the silence pressing on all sides, he feared breaking it and opted instead to just stare at the dirty ceiling. When she spoke again, the woman’s voice was quiet and possessed a certain shyness that Sam wouldn’t have believed was possible if he hadn’t heard it for himself.

“Hey, Clarence.”

“Hey, woah, wait. This is Meg? The Meg who got you caught and locked up and stole your life from you? That Meg?”

No one answered Dean’s questions, and the words died in the air. Sam found himself holding his breath. He didn’t know who Meg was, but Dean did, and Dean was pissed.

“I’m sorry,” Meg finally whispered.

Heavy footfalls as Castiel left, storming out and bumping into things as he went. So his ability still wasn’t working, Sam thought to himself.

“Cas!” Dean called, but his injury prevented him from following. “Anna?”

Anna ran from the room after Cas.

“Um, Meg?” Sam asked, almost afraid to speak.

Whatever effect Castiel’s realisation had had on Meg was broken in an instant and she snapped back to reality and went back to work on Sam. It wasn’t long before Sam was biting back cries and tears streamed down his temples and into his hair. To his dismay, Meg had only started cleaning the wound, and the pain would be intensified tenfold when she actually started fixing it.

“Sammy,” Dean said from somewhere by Sam’s side, “Take the anaesthetic. I’ll be here, and her thoughts are clean. She isn’t planning anything.”

Sam nodded, jaw clenched, and Meg placed a plastic mask over his nose and mouth.

“Think of your girl, Sam,” she said as she cranked a wheel atop a metal canister, “or count back from ten. It’s your choice.”

Sam didn’t have time, though, and before he knew it, his mouth and mind alike filled with an acidic bitterness. It came and went in an instant.

 

*** *** *** ***

 

“...I don’t know what you call a pumpkin in Nebraska, but this ain’t a pumpkin…”

“...Forty-six?...”

“...Are you kidding me? No wa- Dean! He’s waking up!”

“Sam! Sammy? Can you hear me?”

 

*** *** *** ***

 

When he finally managed to lift his ten-ton eyelids, Sam wanted nothing more than to close them again; the room was too bright and everything was unfocused and it sounded like each little noise was being amplified directly into his head.

“Sam!” Dean called again, and Sam winced at the sound. Why was Dean yelling? “Is he alright? Meg, is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s just coming to. Everyone reacts differently to the drugs. You just gotta let him wake up.”

He tried to move, but it seemed his body wasn’t ready to cooperate just yet, so he stayed put. He had been moved from where he’d gone under, that much was obvious; he could see the table, and he was lying down propped up against something now. Was he fixed now?

“Dean?” The voice was croaky and didn’t sound like his own, but Dean smiled at him widely regardless from his place on the sofa.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty!”

“Am I fixed?” Someone must have been translating Sam’s words for Dean’s benefit, since Sam seriously doubted his thoughts were collected enough for Dean to read.

Dean laughed, before gesturing to his leg, which Sam now realised was covered in a white plaster-cast from mid-thigh to foot, and was propped up on sofa cushions.

“Yeah, you and me both.”

Sam managed a small smile, at least he thought he had, and shut his eyes and let his head fall back against whatever he was propped up against. He let his mind wander and vaguely paid attention to the conversation that went on around him until he remembered the drama between Cas and Meg and his eyes snapped open.

He scanned the room quickly, or what he could see of it, at least. It was annoyingly L shaped, and from where Sam sat, he could only see half of it. There were a few sofas, one of which was occupied by Dean, and the table, as well as shelves upon shelves of books. A quick headcount revealed that only Dean, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Garth, and Bela were in the room. There was no sign of Cas, Anna, or Meg. Those present were eating out of steaming bowls of yellow-orange soup, and laughing. The atmosphere was light, but a curling tension danced beneath it.

“Dean?” Sam croaked again, planting his hands either side of him to hoist himself into a more upright-sitting position. His hands sank into the surface, and he realised he was lying across another sofa, propped up against plush cushions, “Where’s Cas?” He didn’t say the last part aloud, framing the thought pointedly in his mind as best he could, instead. He didn’t want anyone else to hear.

Dean stiffened for a second before Sam felt him poking at the edges of his thoughts. He was testing the waters, asking permission to infiltrate Sam’s still delicate and hazy mind, and Sam opened up to the thoughts willingly. What he saw were memories - Dean’s memories - of a conversation he’d had with Castiel years ago. It was hard to follow since Sam had never experienced listening in the way Dean did, but he just about managed. He saw Cas speaking and heard the words in his own head, telling the story of how he was found by the facility; of a little girl called Meg and a stuffed angel.

His eyes fluttered open and he quickly put two and two together. That was this Meg. That’s why Cas had run.

“Where is he now?” Sam thought.

“Walking with Anna. Meg went to try and find him, to apologise. I told her he doesn’t want to be found, but she insisted.” Dean replied directly into Sam’s mind, and none of the other occupants of the room were any the wiser that a conversation was even taking place.

“You spoke to her?”

“When she fixed me up, she didn’t knock me out, just drugged me up so I couldn’t feel my legs. I spoke to her then.”

“And?”

“She seemed really guilty. I mean, she was a kid too, right? She didn’t know that she was going to steal Cas’ life from him anymore than you knew that you wanting a soda would steal mine,” Sam only just had time to put a wall up in his mind before the tsunami of guilt and shame could wash over his senses. Dean didn’t seem to realise and carried on, “I don’t know, man. I hated her for a long time after Cas told me the story, and don’t get me wrong, I’m still mad as Hell, but she’s been trying to find him pretty much her whole life, apparently. After Anna called Jo and Ellen for help, they called Meg and Garth.”

Sam focused on Dean’s words intently, his head threatening to ache with the strain of having Dean’s thoughts in his head for so long. Dean seemed to sense this and closed the connection with a small smile.

With a sigh, Sam allowed his eyes to slide shut and his head fall back against the cushions.


	33. Dean POV

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, Cas, you do.”

“I don’t!”

“Just shut up and listen.”

Cas’ thoughts fell silent and Dean waited as he tried to find the correct name to accompany the song that played.

“The Legend of Wooley Swamp?”

“By?”

“The Charlie Daniels Band. Right?”

“Right! You got it. Again?” Dean began flipping through the cassette tapes in the box he’d had Sam retrieve from Baby that morning, trying to find one that Cas wouldn’t be able to guess within five seconds of it playing. It was damn near impossible, though, the guy remembered everything he heard and he had no doubt heard all of Dean’s music over the past few months.

Well, Dad’s music.

Dean wouldn’t admit it, but the only tapes he’d been buying since Perdition were ones he remembered John playing over and over again in the old junker cars they had back before Dean was taken. As he tried to decide between Metallica’s Black Album and Led Zeppelin’s Physical Graffiti, Cas laid a hand over his own and pried the tapes from his fingers before dropping them back into the box. Dean looked up at him, sending his confusion through the connection they’d already established.

“Cas?”

“Dean, I don’t want to play this game. I want to talk.”

Dean swallowed nervously, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. Cas lifted two fingers and traced the line Dean’s tongue had travelled.

“You know,” Cas whispered, “you always do that when you’re nervous.” His thoughts were no more than a murmur. Cas’ ability had taken days to recover; Ellen, Jo, and Garth had left, while Bobby, Anna, and Bela had relocated to a hotel, and the relative peace had allowed his mind to repair quickly. Dean could sense the gratitude and pure joy Cas felt at being able to ‘see’ again, and he couldn’t deny that he was glad Cas was back to normal. Well, as normal as was possible considering their current situation.

Dean swallowed again, feeling his lips part slightly. His mouth felt too dry. “What did you want to talk about?” He would forever deny the arousal surrounding the thought as it drifted into Cas’ mind.

Cas flinched and his hand dropped back to his lap from where it had found rest on Dean’s cheek. “Not that.”

“Then what?” Dean asked, building walls in his mind against the sting of Cas’ words.

“You know what. We’ve been here a week and you won’t tell me anything. Meg’s on a supply run and Sam’s gone for a walk so why won’t you talk to me, Dean?”

“Cas, I-”

“I hurt you, Dean.” Cas’ thoughts wavered, not dissimilar to the way Dean’s dad’s voice used to break at any mention of his wife; any question of young Sam’s as to what had happened to their mom; any polite “What beautiful boys! Your wife must be so proud!” from middle aged women in the supermarket, John’s voice would waver and crack and for a moment, the armor of booze and indifference would fall away to reveal the broken man beneath. But how could Cas’ pain at hurting Dean even compare to John losing his wife? “No, you didn’t. Crowley did.”

Cas’ thoughts filled with memories and guilt, and Dean recoiled from the strength of the emotions, allowing the connection between Cas’ mind and his own to wane.

“Castiel,” Dean began, speaking aloud and surprising Cas with both the use of his voice and the use of his full name, “Listen to me. We have been dealt the crappiest hand possible, and that sucks, but of everything that’s happened to us in our messed up lives, you beating the living crap out of me? Doesn’t even make the top ten worst things. Sorry. There are a hundred different ways you could hurt me, Cas, but wailing on me isn’t at the top of that list either.”

Cas didn’t answer and kept his thoughts annoyingly guarded, and when he stood and left Dean with a pat on the knee, Dean sighed. Being stuck on this sofa sucked and he would be here for at least another week before Meg would allow him to walk, even with the aid of crutches. And that meant at least another week stuck in this house with Sam bitching about not being able to work out properly and about missing Jess, of Cas being distant, and of Meg tiptoeing around all three of them while still maintaining a pain-in-the-ass sarcastic attitude. Dean’s head fell back against the cushions and he shut his eyes.

 

*** *** *** ***

 

An author of one of the books Dean read in Perdition, though Dean couldn’t remember which one, once said “Tension, in the long run, is a more dangerous force than any feud known to man.” and Dean had to say, for the first time ever, he agreed. As he wearily and warily watched the small group of people of people around him, trying to be sociable but always relapsing into silence, he decided that he would rather them be screaming at one another.

Sam, having positioned himself in between Meg and Cas as they ate to try and relieve some of the tension, looked uncomfortable. Every so often, Meg would peer around him to try and catch Cas’ eye, forgetting as many did that Cas was actually blind, and Cas still pointedly ignored everyone. On the increasingly rare occasion someone’s mind would spike with the idea of something to say, perhaps to spark a conversation, Dean would be a lone audience to the remark, as rarely would they voice it, and the silence would go on undisturbed.

Suddenly, without even Dean expecting it, Cas spoke.

“You stole my life from me.”

Meg’s eyes widened in surprise and Sam’s shut in fear of the storm to come, and Dean focused on Meg’s mind. There, he found guilt, primarily, but also an annoyance at Cas’ words.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered after a moment of silence, her timid voice barely reaching Cas’ ears.

“For twenty years of my life they did experiments on me, all because you had a tantrum? How is that fair?” Cas’ voice was becoming closer and closer to a shout, and Meg shrank into herself further with every word. Peering into Cas’ mind, Dean could see he didn’t really blame Meg, he couldn’t really blame Meg, but he was harbouring anger -at Perdition, at Crowley, at himself- and with a lack of someone to direct it to, he was focusing it all on her.

“You’re right, it isn’t fair,” Meg replied, straightening her back slightly, “but I was six. I didn’t know you would duck instead of just taking the hit like a man, like I’m sure Dean-o here would’ve done-”

“-Leave me out of this-”

“-But I tried to help! I looked for you everywhere, I hacked networks, I called in favours, I visited prison after prison, hospital after hospital, to try and find you, but you fell off the map!” Dean noticed the franticness in her mind as she gushed to get the words out; to make Cas hear her. “How was I supposed to help? There hasn’t been a single day that I didn’t think about you and what I did to you. You know, even at six, I knew I’d done something terrible? I didn’t even feel human. I felt like some kind of-” she paused, looking for a word to describe the self-hatred Dean could feel in the pit of her stomach, “Some kind of demon, selling you out to devil or something. Isn’t that weird? So, yeah, I’m sorry your life got ruined. But don’t you dare blame me for everything that happened to you, Clarence. I ruined my own life, too.”

Dean barely had time to wonder why Meg had called Cas, Clarence, before the argument wore on, fierce as a maelstrom and twice as merciless.

“Oh, well poor you!” Cas retorted, standing up suddenly, “I’m so sorry I inconvenienced you by being kidnapped and treated no better than a lab rat. However will I win back your favour?” The sarcasm that dripped from Cas’ words made even Dean flinch, but not as much as the ferocity in his mind. In that moment, Cas hated Meg, and Dean genuinely feared what he might do.

“Oh, Clarence, is this how you speak to all the girls?” Meg was standing, too, her voice lacking the ferocity of Cas’ and favouring instead sharp words and an even sharper tongue around a sickly-sweet voice of bells. The way Cas heard Meg’s voice differed from how Sam heard it; whereas Sam heard her words, Cas heard the words coupled with a dark hidden agenda, whether imaginary or not seemed an irrelevant minor detail.

“You bitch!” Cas yelled, and in the same second, Meg was thrown back and pinned to the wall behind her. Cas stalked forward, intimidating even in sweatpants and a tshirt, until his face was only inches from hers. “You’ll help Dean and Sam heal and when we leave, you’ll never think of us again. Do you understand? I don’t want your help, I don’t want you to look for me to try and redeem yourself; I want you to forget about us.”

“Now, how could I forget about those baby-blues?” Her voice betrayed none of the fear Dean could feel rolling off her.

Cas turned on his heel and walked out, not letting Meg fall to the floor until he was out of the door. In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Dean found himself remembering to just a few minutes ago when he’d wished they had been screaming at each other and kicked himself. The author, whoever he was, who’d said that tension was the worst feud had clearly never pissed Cas off.

Meg was trying to pick herself up and Sam rushed to help her, hissing when the sudden movement pulled his stitches, but forcing an arm around her waist and hoisting her to her feet nevertheless. She looked afraid and her thoughts were scattered, but Dean could sense no pain coming from her, and figured that even with hatred replacing the blood in his veins, Cas wasn’t going to hurt Meg. If not now, then not ever.

With a sigh, he put his plate on the sofa cushion, and pushed himself to his feet.

“You shouldn’t be walking yet,” Meg said, eyeing the cast on Dean’s leg.

“If you want to try and talk him into coming back in, be my guest,” Dean replied, taking a tentative step and using the arm of the couch to support himself. Meg cast her eyes to the floor and stayed silent, and Dean tried another step. Pain coupled with an odd sensation following the disuse of his leg shot up his leg and into his core, but he was fairly sure he could get as far as the door. He just had to hope Cas hadn’t gone too far beyond that.

 

*** *** *** ***

 

“Cas?” Dean yelled from the doorway to Meg’s house, staring out at the seemingly endless brown and orange Montana landscape, fading into forest to the right of Meg’s house. “Cas!” He leaned against the doorframe as he listened with his mind for any hint of Cas’ thoughts; ignoring Sam and Meg’s, which buzzed from somewhere in the house behind him, and focusing solely on the forest. He knew that’s where Cas would have headed.

After a few moments of silence, it was apparent either Cas was too far away for his thoughts to reach Dean, or he was guarding them. With a sigh, Dean grabbed the umbrella he’d found in Meg’s hallway and decided to use as a crutch, and headed out of the house.

The forest, though only about 100 feet from the porch, felt like it may as well have been in another state as Dean’s leg protested angrily with sharp jolts of pain with every step. Dean tried to suppress every hiss and groan of pain in order to concentrate on Cas’ thoughts, or lack thereof, but it was damn near impossible when the umbrella slipped or he tripped over a rock. He followed a path of flattened grass he figured must’ve been Cas’ route and trudged miserably on, trying not to entertain the possibility that Cas had gone any deeper into the trees than the very edge.

Some five minutes later, Dean neared the treeline, thoroughly annoyed that the thirty second walk had taken ten times longer and that his leg now screamed with every step.

“Cas?” He called again, listening intently with all his senses to try and pick up something.

Gaining no response, Dean leaned against the trunk of a tree to try and figure where Cas might have gone. He hadn’t yet seen these woods, his leg confining him to the house, and so knew nothing about it; nothing about what Cas would like about it. He knew he liked small spaces, spaces in which he could sense easily what was around him in all directions, but where would there be a small space in the middle of a Montana forest? In the forests surrounding Rufus’ cabin, they’d found the tree beneath which, the ground had collapsed and they could sit, but would there be one of those here? Was it close, if there was?

“Cas?”

“Dean?” The thought was a whisper, fleeting, yet undeniably Cas.

“Cas!” Dean yelled again, hope feeding strength into him.

“Dean where…”

“Cas, I can’t hear you!”

“Where… you…I’m so…” Dean tried to grasp onto the curtailed thoughts, to bridge a connection with Cas’ mind, but they were gone in a flash.

“I’m by the treeline, Cas. Head back to the house!”

There came no response and Dean could do nothing but wait, truly believing he was unable to walk another step, and watch the forest until Cas appeared.

Eventually, he did, emerging from behind a particularly large Douglas-fir. His bare feet were dirty and bloodied from the rough forest floor, but apart from that, he appeared unharmed. He fell into Dean’s arms, who in turn fell against a tree, with a huff, and stayed there for the better part of a minute. When Dean finally coaxed him into standing on his own two feet, he looked weary and tears had clearly been streaking down his face only moments before.

“Cas, what’s wrong?” Dean asked, brushing his thumbs along Cas’ cheekbones.

“I just… She makes me so angry, Dean. I’ve never felt so angry before, not even when we were in Rufus’ cabin and Naomi was there, and I… I’m tired, Dean, of running, of being afraid.” The thoughts were rushed and had no accompanying emotions, which meant Cas was trying to separate them so that Dean could sense nothing but what Cas intentionally fed him.

“Cas, hey, listen to me,” Dean began, sending the thoughts to Cas with all the hope and love he could muster, “we have faced everything that The Man Upstairs has thrown at us, and we can survive another week with Meg, all right? Just until I’m allowed to walk again, and then we’re gone, and if you never want to see her again, we won’t.”

“Oh, my God, Dean! Why are you walking?” Cas suddenly gushed, stepping away from and then towards Dean and forcing his own arm under Dean’s so that he could support him.

“I had to come find your sorry ass,” Dean replied with a wink, and Cas nudged him playfully.

“How can we beat this?” Cas asked, the thoughts tentative and clearly afraid of the answer.

“I got no idea. But what I do have is a GED and a give-‘em-hell attitude, and I’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t have a GED.”

“Yeah okay, whatever, but I can full-on Obi Wan people now, Cas. You got your mojo, and Sam’s got his. We’ll be okay.”

“How can you be sure we three will be enough?”

“We always have been,” Dean smiled, realising that ‘always’ for him didn’t include Perdition; that was another lifetime. This lifetime was him, Cas, and Sam. “Besides, it ain’t just us three. We got Bobby, and Anna. Bela’s on the run now, so she might help us out. And Ellen, Jo, and Garth came to help, too.” The hope he fed Cas along with the words may have been feigned, but the warmth at the knowledge that there were good people willing to help wasn’t. Nor was the apprehension at putting these people in danger.

Cas smiled a small, barely hopeful smile, and Dean felt the weight disappear off his feet.

“Let’s head back,” he said, slipping an arm around Dean’s waist and helped him walk back, while using his ability to lift most of Dean’s weight off his injured leg anyway.

As they walked, slowly but surely, back towards the house, a thought struck Dean and he stopped.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Why’d Meg call you Clarence?”

Cas didn’t frame any words as an answer, just opened his mind fully and suddenly Dean was reliving a memory of Cas’, a strong memory, if old, that demanded his attention. It was hazy and wavering, but it was undoubtedly a young girl’s voice whispering excitedly.

_“Cassiel, you’re like Clarence.”_

_“No, I’m not!”_

_“Yeah, you are. You are because you came here on Christmas Eve and you made me feel better. You said that I was important, remember? You did say that.” The kind of childish triumph at having proven a point laced the girl’s voice, “You’re like my very own angel - or maybe a unicorn!.”_

Dean smiled at the memory, a small smile that mirrored the one Cas wore perfectly.


	34. Cas POV

Castiel was glad that Dean had learned to (quite literally) share his own thoughts and emotions, truly he was, but when he got awoken in the middle of the night screaming and sweating because of a nightmare _Dean_ was having and was subconsciously reaching out to Castiel for help, it was somewhat difficult to remind himself that he was glad.

This was one such night, and Castiel jerked awake with a start, sweat already soaking his t-shirt. Dean must have fallen asleep on the couch again, probably because he was reluctant to wake anyone to help him tackle the stairs, since he wasn’t in the bed he and Castiel shared, and the nightmare must have been awful. Castiel’s lungs refused to work, as if the breath he tried to draw somehow escaped his mouth before he could gulp it down. He was nearly hysterical as he managed to half-step, half-fall out of the bed and stumble across the small room to the door that stood slightly ajar, still standing ready for Dean to come in from when Castiel had retired to bed. His lungs screamed, his mind was a mess, and it was made so much worse by the knowledge that Dean was living it. Castiel knew he was experiencing Dean’s fear. He knew, rationally, that he was okay. But Dean? For all Dean knew, he was back on Alistair’s table (since that’s always where the nightmares took him) silently hoping that this drug killed him.

The stairs were difficult. The lines in Castiel’s head wouldn’t aline, jumping around in panicked motion, and all he could do was pray as he stepped blindly into the air that there would be a step, not too far below, to catch him.

As he finally found contact with the ground floor, and threw himself around the corner into the living room, he could hear Dean’s haunted whimpers and his heart and mind shattered. As the pain of what must have been the climax of Dean’s dream, because how could it honestly get any worse? tore through Castiel’s mind and Dean’s alike, a fierce protectiveness sliced hot and passionate through Castiel’s chest. Dean, his Dean, righteous and loving and kind, had to endure this kind of horror day after day, night after night, in his own mind. Castiel couldn’t stop it. He knew better than most about how Perdition could haunt those who thought they had escaped, but like a lingering presence, wouldn’t leave them be. He knew he couldn’t protect Dean from that, but he could damn well be there for him when it felt like even his own mind wasn’t.

Briefly, Castiel wondered whether it was safe to wake someone suffering a nightmare, but as another heartbreaking groan fell from Dean’s lips, he pushed the thought aside and grabbed Dean’s shoulders roughly. Shaking him somewhat gently, he spoke calmly despite the maelstrom of fear in his gut,

“Dean, wake up. You have to wake up. You’re dreaming. Dean!”

He knew his voice would have no effect, but he shouted the words regardless.

Dean woke with a jolt, and instantly grabbed the hair at the side of Castiel’s head, holding him still. Castiel knew what he was doing; he had to find something real to convince himself he was awake, and right now, that thing was blue eyes and a familiar face. After a few seconds, he pulled Castiel in close and kissed him roughly. No love or sentiment laced the kiss, just desperation and possessiveness and urgency. Castiel let him, not returning the kiss per se, but responding enough to reassure Dean that he was awake, he was safe.

“You’re okay,” Dean panted when he finally broke the kiss.

“Yeah, I- what?” confusion filled Castiel’s tone. Of course he was okay.

“Oh my God, Cas. What they were doing to you and I couldn’t stop it. I just had to watch and it replayed and it was so bad, I’m so sorry,” Dean gushed, building speed and volume with every word in a desperate attempt to get the words out before tears choked him. He succeeded, to an extend, his voice only wavering as the last words tumbled from his mouth.

“It was a dream Dean. We’re okay,” Castiel replied gently, pulling Dean’s head forward to that their foreheads touched and their breaths mingled.

“You’re okay,” Dean repeated quietly, “We’re okay.”

 

*** *** *** ***

 

Upon checking the clock, Dean revealed that it was already 5:30 and both men conceded that they probably wouldn’t get much sleep anyway, and so decided not to bother trying. Castiel ran up stairs to get the blanket from their bed and then they both settled on Dean’s couch and turned on the old TV. The channels were minimal, especially at this time, but they settled on some old rerun regardless, and half-watched (Dean providing Castiel with some images, hazy and muted so as not to be too harsh on either man’s mind), half-dozed the early hours of the morning away.

That was until the old clock on the wall showed 6:12am and the front door flew open and stumbling in came all 6 foot 4 of Sam’s body, off-balance and swaying on his feet. The crash of the door hitting the wall was enough to yank both, Dean and Cas from that grey area between sleep and wakefulness, and both men were immediately on guard.

“Sammy?” Dean yelled, almost instantly, “Sam, what happened? Are- Are you drunk?”

“No,” Sam slurred, the sound more of a groan than a word.

“You are.”

“Li’l bit.” Sam giggled, actually _giggled,_ and Castiel couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him.

“S’not funny, Cas-”

“You said snot,” Sam snorted his laughter. Castiel’s half-suppressed laugh evolved into a guffaw, more at Sam’s laughter than his words. He still wasn’t accustomed to the idea of people getting inebriated and the only experience he had came from darts players in small-town bars. Sam’s clownish behaviour was new to Castiel, but he loved it. Dean didn’t join them in their laughter.

“Where did you go? And when?” he demanded, desperately trying to grab hold of some kind of pensivity.

“You were asleep and I snuck out,” Sam offered, his tone implying that Dean should have realised this on his own.

“But your stomach! It’s not healed, Sam. Here, let me check it.” Dean tried to sit up, pushing Castiel away roughly, but the other man could take no offense in the gesture through his incessant laughter.

“You’re bossy,” Sam replied, but ambled over to the couch anyway. When he reached it, and Dean’s head barely reached his stomach, he laughed again. “And short.”

Dean ignored his little brother, but Castiel felt the air respond to the twinge in his cheek as the corner of his mouth threatened to smile. He checked Sam’s stitches quickly and seeing they were all intact, pushed Sam away gently.

“Okay, you’re good,” he announced, “now go away, Sasquatch, your thoughts are making my head hurt.”

“No, I wanna stay,” Sam insisted, but his legs were already carrying him towards the stairs.

“Cas, can you?” Dean didn’t need to form the question fully; Castiel knew what he meant and he stretched his ability out to where Sam was struggling with placing his foot on the first step and used the air to guide his movements. Just slightly. Just so he didn’t fall. As he did so, he shut the front door and retrieved the blanket from where it had been discarded and fallen to the floor upon Sam’s arrival. He settled back into position beside Dean.

“What’s the matter?” he asked with his mind.

“What?” Dean replied, distractedly, speaking aloud.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it? I mean, beside Sam sneaking out and getting drunk all night.”

“It’s nothing, maybe, it’s just… Sam guards his thoughts a lot, doesn’t let me in, but the - I don’t know - the walls weren’t there just now.”

“And?”

“Sam wasn’t drinking alone. There was a girl with him, dark hair. She knew about him.”

“Poor Jess,” Castiel thought quietly, the kind of thought that would be a murmur were it spoken aloud.

“No, not like with him with him, they were drinking together and she knew, Cas.”

“So he got drunk and blabbed, she probably didn’t believe him anyway.”

“No, he kept reliving this one specific thing in his mind.”

“What was it?”

“It was something the girl said. Something like ‘Just because you can make yourself have a vision, Sam, doesn’t mean you’re in control. We still have a lot of work to do’.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They relapsed into silence, the laugh track drifting out of the old TV speakers mocking, and Castiel thought mutedly, so as not to disturb Dean, about what this meant. Sam hadn’t given up on wanting to better his ability, he’d just gone about it by himself. Then who was the girl? Dean didn’t recognise her. She clearly knew at least the basics of Sam’s ability, and if she knew that, what else did she know? Did she know about Dean and himself? Did she know where they were living? Was she with Crowley; another pawn in his game?

Obviously they couldn’t trust her, especially now they they could barely defend themselves. Castiel now opened his mind as he thought, allowing Dean to follow. Behind him, he felt Dean nod.

“We need to find out who she is, who she’s working for,” he thought, sending it directly into Castiel’s mind.

“Should we tell Sam we know?” Castiel thought in return.

“Not yet,” Dean replied, “Not until we know what’s going on.”

Castiel nodded and felt a weight settle in his chest; heavy and dark, it suppressed the fluttering of his heart from only moments ago.


End file.
